My Peony Life
Last night, I remembered the peonies in my dream. Startled, I wondered: had I missed their blooming?
Many years ago, I dug a hole to China and planted the peony bulb in my yard – 18 inches isn’t deep until you start digging. I’d fallen in love with the flower’s ostentatiousness, its irrational exuberance, its beauty.
But the peonies’ bloom time is short. Had I somehow allowed life to distract me? Had I let that which I used to value so highly enter—and leave—my life without even noticing?
This is my life. Right on the verge of bursting forth. If only I don’t get distracted and forget why I did all the hard work planting the bulb in the first place: because I just love it.
here’s to creative synthesis . . .