In the darkest corners of our sad soul, embroidered on a black funereal brocade, grow the most beautiful flowers. The flowers that grew in the purest soil, that breathed the best smelling air, that are cleansed every morning by a crystal clear dew and roots of which sleep in winter in the coldest place of our country. These flowers grow only on the untouched meadows in protected regions and cannot be picked. We can only look at them and admire their beauty and amazing scent. They inspired women who served this land their whole life. They dreamt of being beautiful and happy. And as no flower in the earth is the same and is not perfect, so were these imperfectly beautiful flowers embroidered on the aprons of women, hiding their worries and sorrows deep. In every delicate stitch of the embroidery, there is a hidden tale of one of us. Colorful flowers as the joy always grow from the black ash of sorrow. It is them, it is us - the flowers of Telgart.
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