Peonies

Dear Prairiewoods friends,

A few years ago, I planted a peony bush in my little yard. This year it is blooming for the first time—there are two blooms! I am beyond excited! Have you ever nuzzled your face into the face of a Peony? It’s, like, the best thing ever; it’s like a silky flower kiss with a scent that will make you woozy with pleasure. Go, you must. I beg you. Before it is too late. Perhaps you might read this poem to the peonies as well …

Peonies
by Mary Oliver

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open—
pools of lace,
white and pink—
and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities—
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again—
beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?

From my heart to yours,

—Emelia Sautter, Prairiewoods ecospirituality coordinator