There is something about peonies. They are just so extravagant: big, blowsy and beautifully fragrant. They swirl into spring, elegantly dressed in pinks, first these ones, then my deep rose-coloured variety and finally the creamy ones which are still tightly bound buds in the front garden. In the collage above are the old-fashioned kind that fall over with their own weight and dance along the surface of the grass. Especially today, with heavy rain this morning and more to come later. My mother always said a downpour was guaranteed when peonies were in bloom.
I wonder what readers who live in warmer climes think about the adoration so many northerners have for peonies, these hardy plants that will live for a hundred years. Maybe that is a significant part of their appeal; they not only cope with the seasons, they appreciate the cold weather.
Yesterday found me sitting on the ground and breathing in the scent from these lush beauties. I was supposed to be weeding. I get the strangest things taking up residence in my yard, uninvited. At one point, my hands were stinging after grabbing a mystery plant to remove it and finding the little hairs on it had the inclination to fight back. There is a reason why people wear gardening gloves. Lesson learned.
Some of my peonies have wandered indoors, one by my bedside and a bouquet by the apple tortes that were cooling for a potluck dinner in the countryside at the animal rescue site. (You met my new foster, Purl, in my last post.)
With pleasure, I'm joining Judith for Mosaic Monday.
Thank you for visiting.