A brilliant pink stamen waits vainly for bees within a cloud of narrow petals. Cut from my mother's garden, the single peony stands in a vase and fills my sitting room with its rosewater candy scent. Though a few hours in a closed car left the blossom limp, water at the stem and the hospitable environment of my house have restored it to upstanding glory. Two green buds sharing the stem give little hope of flowers, but the pink one may yet bloom. That knob of petals, tight as a baby's fist this afternoon, now unfurls a hitchhiker's thumb to the air.
102 words | May 9, 2004 09:02 PM | Real true story