Simply Pure by Nature

Thank you from Azalia. Azalia Closing.

By Aimee Flor
on May 31, 2022

Dear Azalia Friends,


I am saddened to say that Azalia Spa Goods will be closing down business. Azalia's last day of business will be on June 30, 2022. Our products and our website will be up until June 30, 2022 for any last purchases you wish to make.

I have cherished the relationships with all of you, our customers and partners, over the last nine years. The decision to close down this business was not an easy one, especially thinking of all of you that I have done business in that time.

Azalia Spa Goods - in all the seasons - has been a wonderful experience for me and my family. Thank you again for letting us enrichen you and yours.


In All Gratitude,


Aimee Flor

Azalia Spa Goods

Winter 2022

By Aimee Flor
on January 01, 2022

Dear Friend,
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickerin brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!
I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun
A daimen-icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request:
I'll get a blessin wi'the lave,
An' never miss't!
Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O'foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 
Baith snell an' keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary Winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.
That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!
But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!
Robert Burns (1759-1796)


Harbour Scene at Sunset

Harbour Scene at Sunset
Claude Lorrain (1604/5-1682)
With love,
Aimee Flor

Autumn 2021

By Aimee Flor
on September 01, 2021

Dear Friend,
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
John Keats (1795-1821)


Jacob Fleeing from Laban
Filippo Lauri (1623-1694)
With love,
Aimee Flor

Summer 2021

By Aimee Flor
on June 01, 2021

Dear Friend,
Winter is cold-hearted,
Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weathercock
Blown every way:
Summer days for me
When ever leaf is on its tree;
When Robin's not a beggar
And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hand singing, singing, singing,
Over the wheat-fields wide,
And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
Swings from side to side,
And blue-black beetles transact business,
And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
That no time be lost,
And mots grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.
Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
Is worth a month in town;
Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion 
That days drone elsewhere.
Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)


Jacob Peeling the Rods

Jacob Peeling the Rods
Guido Cagnacci (1601-1663)
With love,
Aimee Flor

Spring 2021

By Aimee Flor
on March 01, 2021

Dear Friend,
The year's at the spring.
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in His heaven-
All's right with the world!
Robert Browning (1812 - 1889)


Madonna and Child in a Landscape with Tobias and the Angel

Madonna and Child in a Landscape with Tobias and the Angel
Titian (1488 - 1576)
With Love,
Aimee Flor
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