It is a beautiful, high-60s day in May and the sun is warm as we settle at a stone-and-pebble courtyard. Sitting in wood-slatted folding chairs, we watch Con- nolly go to work.
Everyone is enraptured. He has this presence, always pulling from a bucket, never second-guessing anything, not a moment’s pause in his lessons. “Cut stems at the join so they fall naturally,” he tells us. “They should arrange themselves in death as they do in life.”
“FLOWERS SHOULD FEEL RIGHT IN THEIR SETTING, AS IF THEY COULD HAVE BEEN PICKED IN THE GARDEN OUTSIDE.”