yesterday, i bought peonies.
peonies, this tricky and wonderful flower, losing its million petals like a supernova star burst.
peonies, that used to grow in bushes in my grandma’s garden; you would see them in april, just little rollie-polly spheres, to wake up one morning in may enchanted by an otherworldly smell.
in paris, this is the last week of peonies. i barely got to see them pop up in flower shops, that the downstairs florist tells me they’re almost over. like kramer’s special peach. apparently they’re impossible to get in france and you’d have to wait till winter for new zeeland exports. and i’ve seen them in winter- beautiful, curly, blush pink… only something was missing- that wondrous, ethereal scent.
maybe magical things don’t last after midnight…
last night, the air in the living room was singing- there were peonies on the table.
… i guess i just never learn.