It is you I love
If my back was against a wall and I had to pick a favorite, I would pick the peony. What can I say other than: I’m a romantic. In the summer you will find me star watching in silk robes in the front yard. Standing in gardens and rubbing my nose and fingers into open blooms. Eating whole watermelons and licking every drop of pleasure off my hands.
Peonies has always been my favorite. It’s a old love for me. Much like Lilly of the valley or Violets. I love them for the way they come on, and I love them for the way they come undone. Because I know that feeling. And I love that feeling. There are days when I wish I was an ant so I could explore their petals like a lover. Doing my small part to coax them open.
Where I come from in the Midwest, people plant copious amounts of them in their yards. My sister has 11 bushes in hers. Four different varieties. Both my grandmothers grew them. We grew up adoring graves with them. Sometimes in late spring you can walk down certain blocks and feel dizzy with their heady perfume wafting on the breeze.
It is in these moments where I feel so in love the drama of it all. I love them because they remind me to be here for the magic of life.
Since they are my favorite I get sent care packages full of them in spring time. They get packed into luggage on long flights back home. They fill backpacks on trains rides to the coast. Boxes of closed blooms get stored in my refrigerator.
I get to have months of their blooms filling my rooms. Vases heaping full next to the bed pulling me from sleep. I believe I was once star dust and it took billions of years to become. Now I get to be here. And that truth is just, Wow.
Wow.
But enough about me now. What is your favorite flower?