April 10, 2012

Some mornings are so iconic, like this one, balmy temperatures, blue skies, bright sun, a little breeze, a perfect spring morning.  Even the cat is lying out on the drive way, stretching and just enjoying the sun.  The cardinals are in the tree, making bright splashes of color, and everything is jus lovely.  The ligustrum bush is making its cone shapes of tiny white flowers, attracting both bees and butterflies, and if I were outside the smell would drench the air in sweetness.  The one thing I miss is garden flowers, having a not-so-green thumb there are not any flowers except the paper iris in the back yard and they have not bloomed yet, and may not because they froze and are sort of thin this spring.  Still the white of the new can is a pretty as any flower and later the crepe myrtles will bloom and rain down pink and white petals.

Since I have no big flowers in the yard, I think I will imagine some . . .

Peonies

Heart-transplants my friend handed me:
four of her own peony bushes
in their fall disguise, the arteries
of truncated, dead wood protruding
from clumps of soil fine-veined with worms.

"Better get them in before the frost."
And so I did, forgetting them
until their June explosion when
it seemed at once they'd fallen in love,
had grown two dozen pink hearts each.

Extravagance, exaggeration,
each one a girl on her first date,
excess perfume, her dress too ruffled,
the words he spoke to her too sweet—
but he was young; he meant it all.

And when they could not bear the pretty
weight of so much heart, I snipped
their dew-sopped blooms; stuffed them in vases
in every room like tissue-boxes
already teary with self-pity.

Mary Jo Salter

You have to be glad there are people in the world who can see flowers in that way!  Make up stories about them, give them personality, and meaning!  My favorite line "but he was young; he meant it all."  Peonies are mother's favorite flower; she tried and tried to grow them in Virginia, and they just never flourished or bloomed.  I personally think she worried them to death.  Now she has that print of the bowl full of peonies above the sofa, a beautiful old print full the luscious blossoms.

For today the idea of such gorgeous flowers in the world all pink and rufflely and sopping with dew is enough for me!  Pink hearts to open in the sun and last just long enough for someone to make a story of them!