![](https://talesforlife.blog/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/burgundy-peony-dennis-magnusson.jpg)
On the counter, a lone peony faces me, is intrepid,
having opened its tight beauty with a flush,
burgundy petals cupping one another,
unmoved by last night’s darkness or today’s radiance–
and sunlight hovers as a kiss about its dark bloom.
The peony brings me to it, humble magic.
Luxe in color, rich in form, I have watched over it
the past days and this room is bolstered by
a flower of promise with hidden poignance.
Its deep notes of red, a shock of golden center
vibrate inside eye and mind, in spirit.
It is June now, this is the unveiling summer,
and nature’s savory sweetness lulls me.
A song sparrow shifts from branch to sill,
offers song of praise, then flees;
big leaves of maple twirl the air.
But this single flower, last of its bunch
ushered from market, still beckons.
It recharges my being in the scampering day;
it calms with its spell, the dense layers of finery.
So imagine it: my fingers–with such care–
slip over its stem to globe of blossom
that would fit into a cupped hand,
and the peony without trembling lets go itself,
its feathery shimmers of red fluttering
beyond capture to drift by the
caramel leather bench, to spread
themselves atop a most ordinary floor,
coloring it with a perfection of finality
as words escape me to startle my husband:
Oh no- peony you are bleeding, bleeding all over the floor
and I scoop them to my face
as tears gather and fall, too, without sound,
as love of a peony strikes my heart
Nice
you have so well described the esoteric dimension of the exoteric flower .. that is how nature veils itself with such lovely and most creative masterpieces of art exhibited in a single peony … thank you!
Thank you
Beautifully described
Thank you, Derrick.