This week, there are no blooms. No coral. No violet. No gold. Just green. Every shade, every texture, every whisper of it — and nothing else.

Green's Greens. For Saint Patrick's. For Ireland. For the color that raised me.

So this week, we honor it. Every arrangement that leaves the studio will be built entirely from greens — a spell cast in monochrome. No distraction. No compromise. Just the architecture of the leaf, the curve of the frond, the velvet of the moss.

The Palette

• Emerald — monstera, aspidistra, deep fern — the Ireland in it
• Sage — dusty miller, lamb's ear, eucalyptus — the fog rolling in
• Chartreuse — bells of Ireland, lady's mantle, hellebore foliage — the magic in the margins
• Forest — cedar, pine, moss — the woods I never really left
• Jade — succulents, hosta, galax leaf — the quiet ones that hold the whole thing together

There's a reason the Irish understood green the way they did. It wasn't decoration. It was identity. The land itself. The thing that survived everything — every winter, every occupation, every impossible century — and came back. Louder. Greener. More alive than before.

That's what these arrangements are. Not Saint Patrick's Day florals. Not a holiday gimmick with a shamrock tucked in. This is green as a declaration. Green as autobiography. Green as the thing the Witch in the Woods always knew: the most powerful magic doesn't need to be loud. It just needs to be alive.

Only 13 arrangements leave the studio each week. This week, every single one will be green. When they're spoken for, the books close.

Sláinte. And happy Saint Patrick's.

— Brandon Joseph
The Green Witch of Nob Hill