The peonies are amazing here -- huge clusters of them frothing all over the garden in the early morning light. Their scent lingers in the air as I stand out there with the hose, watering before the sun is high enough to burn the moisture off. I've been gathering them in, taking armfuls to the shop, keeping a few on the dining table until their petals begin to drop.
The poppies, too, are amazing though I've been leaving them outside. Bright orange and crimson and salmon
and pink, glowing against the blue sky if you catch them right. I always wondered about that scene in the Wizard of Oz, even back
when I was a little girl. What was it exactly that made them all fall into such blissful unconsciousness? And, honestly, why would they ever want to wake up?