June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Treasure Lake is the Forever in Love Bouquet

Introducing the Forever in Love Bouquet from Bloom Central, a stunning floral arrangement that is sure to capture the heart of someone very special. This beautiful bouquet is perfect for any occasion or celebration, whether it is a birthday, anniversary or just because.

The Forever in Love Bouquet features an exquisite combination of vibrant and romantic blooms that will brighten up any space. The carefully selected flowers include lovely deep red roses complemented by delicate pink roses. Each bloom has been hand-picked to ensure freshness and longevity.

With its simple yet elegant design this bouquet oozes timeless beauty and effortlessly combines classic romance with a modern twist. The lush greenery perfectly complements the striking colors of the flowers and adds depth to the arrangement.

What truly sets this bouquet apart is its sweet fragrance. Enter the room where and you'll be greeted by a captivating aroma that instantly uplifts your mood and creates a warm atmosphere.

Not only does this bouquet look amazing on display but it also comes beautifully arranged in our signature vase making it convenient for gifting or displaying right away without any hassle. The vase adds an extra touch of elegance to this already picture-perfect arrangement.

Whether you're celebrating someone special or simply want to brighten up your own day at home with some natural beauty - there is no doubt that the Forever in Love Bouquet won't disappoint! The simplicity of this arrangement combined with eye-catching appeal makes it suitable for everyone's taste.

No matter who receives this breathtaking floral gift from Bloom Central they'll be left speechless by its charm and vibrancy. So why wait? Treat yourself or surprise someone dear today with our remarkable Forever in Love Bouquet. It is a true masterpiece that will surely leave a lasting impression of love and happiness in any heart it graces.

Amaranthus does not behave like other flowers. It does not sit politely in a vase, standing upright, nodding gently in the direction of the other blooms. It spills. It drapes. It cascades downward in long, trailing tendrils that look more like something from a dream than something you can actually buy from a florist. It refuses to stay contained, which is exactly why it makes an arrangement feel alive.

There are two main types, though “types” doesn’t really do justice to how completely different they look. There’s the upright kind, with tall, tapering spikes that look like velvet-coated wands reaching toward the sky, adding height and texture and this weirdly ancient, almost prehistoric energy to a bouquet. And then there’s the trailing kind, the showstopper, the one that flows downward in thick ropes, soft and heavy, like some extravagant, botanical waterfall. Both versions have a weight to them, a physical presence that makes the usual rules of flower arranging feel irrelevant.

And the color. Deep, rich, impossible-to-ignore shades of burgundy, magenta, crimson, chartreuse. They look saturated, velvety, intense, like something out of an old oil painting, the kind where fruit and flowers are arranged on a wooden table with dramatic lighting and tiny beads of condensation on the grapes. Stick Amaranthus in a bouquet, and suddenly it feels more expensive, more opulent, more like it should be displayed in a room with high ceilings and heavy curtains and a kind of hushed reverence.

But what really makes Amaranthus unique is movement. Arrangements are usually about balance, about placing each stem at just the right angle to create a structured, harmonious composition. Amaranthus doesn’t care about any of that. It moves. It droops. It reaches out past the edge of the vase and pulls everything around it into a kind of organic, unplanned-looking beauty. A bouquet without Amaranthus can feel static, frozen, too aware of its own perfection. Add those long, trailing ropes, and suddenly there’s drama. There’s tension. There’s this gorgeous contrast between what is contained and what refuses to be.

And it lasts. Long after more delicate flowers have wilted, after the petals have started falling and the leaves have lost their luster, Amaranthus holds on. It dries beautifully, keeping its shape and color for weeks, sometimes months, as if it has decided that decay is simply not an option. Which makes sense, considering its name literally means “unfading” in Greek.

Amaranthus is not for the timid. It does not blend in, does not behave, does not sit quietly in the background. It transforms an arrangement, giving it depth, movement, and this strange, undeniable sense of history, like it belongs to another era but somehow ended up here. Once you start using it, once you see what it does to a bouquet, how it changes the whole mood of a space, you will not go back. Some flowers are beautiful. Amaranthus is unforgettable.

Are looking for a Treasure Lake florist because you are not local to the area? If so, here is a brief travelogue of what Treasure Lake has to offer. Who knows, perhaps you'll be intrigued enough to come visit soon, partake in some of the fun activities Treasure Lake has to offer and deliver flowers to your loved one in person!

The morning sun fractures over Treasure Lake’s eastern ridge, spilling light across water so still it seems the lake is holding its breath. Geese glide in formation, their wingtips skimming the surface as if testing its viscosity, while somewhere beyond the pines, a pickup truck’s door slams shut, a thermos clinks against a mug, and the first joggers appear along the asphalt trails that vein the community. This is not a place that announces itself. It hums. It flickers. It insists on being seen in increments: the glint of a paddleboarder’s oar at noon, the scent of mulch and fresh-cut grass wafting from lawns where residents kneel to weed flowerbeds, the echo of children’s laughter as they cannonball off docks into water warm with August. Treasure Lake, Pennsylvania, is a paradox, a planned community that feels organic, a enclave of privacy where everyone knows your dog’s name. The streets curve like question marks, past cedar-sided homes with wraparound porches and kayaks strapped to SUVs, past mailboxes adorned with hand-painted loons, past a black bear that sometimes lopes through backyards at dusk, more curious than menacing, a transient reminder that wilderness persists here. Residents speak of “TL” with a possessive warmth, as if describing a favorite uncle. They gather at the lakeside pavilion for summer concerts, folding chairs angled toward local cover bands churning out Creedence Clearwater Revival hits. They debate the merits of fishing lures at the tackle shop, where the clerk knows which coves the bass favor after rain. They wave at every passing car, a reflex so ingrained it feels physiological. The community pool crackles with the energy of kids performing handstand contests, while retirees play doubles on the tennis courts, their rallies punctuated by groans and laughter. At the center of it all, the lake persists, not just a body of water but a locus of myth. Old-timers swear a sturgeon the size of a canoe lurks in its depths, though no one has proof. Teenagers paddle to “Lovers’ Rock” at midnight to spray-paint initials under the stars. Frost heaves the docks each winter, when the lake freezes into a vast, silent plain, and ice fishermen huddle over holes, their breath blooming in the cold. Spring thaw brings a frenzy of preparation: boats buffed, gardens tilled, screen doors unlatched. There’s a rhythm here that feels both deliberate and accidental, a choreography of small gestures, a neighbor shoveling another’s driveway after a snowstorm, a potluck organized via stapled flyers at the community center, the way everyone stops to watch the sunset smear the sky peach and lavender over the western ridge. The architecture leans into rustic camp vibes: stone fireplaces, vaulted ceilings, Adirondack chairs angled toward the water. But what defines Treasure Lake isn’t its aesthetics or amenities. It’s the quiet insistence that life can be shaped by intention. That a community can be both a refuge and a living thing, breathing, adapting, enduring. That a place becomes home not through grandeur, but through the accumulation of tiny moments, a heron poised on one leg at dawn, the crunch of gravel under bicycle tires, the collective sigh of a hundred porch lights flickering on as dusk settles. You don’t just live here. You sync with it. You become a steward of its idiosyncrasies. You learn the trails where the monarchs swarm in September, the best benches for reading in solitude, the exact hour the ice cream truck completes its loop. You belong. The lake keeps your secrets. The pines whisper them back when the wind blows east.