less than a week. the peony shared its dance with the world for less than a week. but oh, what a week it was.

i don’t imagine that it wondered – ahead of time – how long would be its time in the sun. i don’t imagine that it pondered the kind of notoriety it would have. i don’t imagine it was fretting, “bloom/don’t bloom/bloom/don’t bloom“. i don’t imagine it planned its choreography – the minuet or ballet, the jazz steps or interpretive improv – based on what it understood its stage and its time under the fresnel of light.

from a tight bud to wrinkly vestiges of peony petals, it danced for the sun, shied from the moon. it held on during the winds and collected bits of rain, courageously standing under the pressure to bow its fragile stem, its velvet-soft blossom.

the peony didn’t measure its relevance by its time here. it didn’t concern itself with striving or success, abundance of blooms or lushness of plant. it just bloomed as it bloomed.

and in the giving-over of trying to control any thing else, in the giving-over to follow its natural path, in the embrace of its exclaiming-life dance, it exploded in beauty.

what a week it was.

what a dance!

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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