I am fairly certain that heaven is a big space filled with geraniums. Rows and rows of lovely geraniums with their faintly herbaceous fragrance that float around after you brush your hand over their velvety soft leaves.
All colors of geraniums. Reds and oranges and corals and oh the pinks. Lots and lots of pinks.
In garden heaven, all the angels wear head wraps and spend their time during the day pruning the plants ...
but at night they let their hair down and dance in the aisles of the greenhouses to Creedence Clearwater Revival songs.
Don't ask me how I know all this. I just do.