Ode to the Peony

Photo by Virginija Klimaite, Unsplash

Each year my complex friends return to me
In their next incarnation 
And then leave again too quickly. 
It takes a whole year to recover,
And then
They do it again, cruel and reckless beauties they are.
Rising up slowly at first, their cautious, slender fingers of green probe the world above
Before they explode their unabashed color and arrogance of youth
Then they are all show, heads held high, they taunt and mock, 
Their laughter uncontained at the sullen, the less provocative.
They can’t help it, all future, and possibility
They seem to prance, almost, their faces to the sun, chests as high as can be
Maidens they are, here to attract, to spread notions of beauty, and love. 
When the weight of all that strutting and enticement becomes tiring, they more quietly look forward, back, and below
And to show us of what we cannot and should not hold on to, letting go and arrogance some of our hardest lessons.
Center of gravity moves lower too, 
Yet with the weight, comes an important grounding, 
A wisdom in the acceptance of letting go
Those once robust heads eventually all turn downward, but it’s not what you think
As the crone emerges
And the cool, soft petals drop
Revealing their beauty in the tightening and browning of buds, petals once a festival of color now paled by time
Beautiful in a way it may be harder to notice at first
And exquisite nonetheless
Their smell too, now just a gentle trace of the pungent sweet and heady rose-like scent
As they no longer need to source their approval from others, each learns who she is beneath the fanfare and what is unneeded, down to the essential
As she accepts others’ need to bloom too in the way she once had to.
And they do.

Photo by Jenny Wonderling