Peonies are my favorite flower. I love how they’re wild but also elegant — the two things I most want to be and secretly (or not so secretly) hope I already am.
Well, as it happens, it’s peony season, which is a bit like hunting season but without the blood.
On Memorial Day, while shopping for a potluck barbecue, I saw a tub of the most gorgeous peonies standing just outside the market day. Afraid they’d wilt in the car — and afraid that someone would nab them if we brought them in — we (or, rather, I) resolved to swing back after our cookout and pick some up. When we got back there, all that were left were the dregs. Should have bagged those bouquets when I had the chance (and dared anyone at that cookout to try to take them home).