Once again I forgot to put frames around the peonies. Perhaps I am propping up so many other things that the heavy flowers are destined to a life bent low. I can only do so much.
But here are the rescued ones, and my house smells of the sweetness of spring.
It is all rather like a joyful hymn: “Hearts unfold like flowers before thee, opening to the sun above.” In the unfolding there is a receiving and a becoming and a conferring of certain beauty wrought by the Hand of God.