Waiting for the Peonies

Among the many benefits of living outside the city, I've come to see first hand that spring is no simple thing.  It's almost like a year unto itself, with its own beginning, middle and end, and other distinctive vantage points along the way.  It stretches from winter's drab doorstep to the sun drenched days of June when the backyard is fully given over to birdsong and vibrant color.  

Each step along the way is marked by its own telltale signs of change, some subtle others quite dramatic.  It begins underfoot, when the turf first returns to life and the hardiest shoots emerge; then crocus and violet set the stage, as the sap begins to rise, buds take shape and the race gets underway with the baton passing from forsythia, to daffodil to lilac. 

This week on Long Island we reached a vernal climax of sorts.  The entire world seemed to change overnight, as suddenly full leaf predominates up and down the block.  Here we are, still a month before the equinox, and already summer is holding sway; and perhaps the best indication of how matters presently stand is that the peonies are simply no longer able to contain themselves. 

Waiting for the Peonies


Now it’s almost June

And the peonies can't open

A moment too soon

Those mighty vessels of spring
With their all but bursting buds
Long compacted by the
Parade of ant across the globe

  Ready to explode in color

As the Golden Wheel

Finishes one turn and

Prepares for another
We stand on the threshold
Of this lush green carpet
Sign of our unflagging disposition
Thrilled at summer's imminence
Even though it's already
Rolled out beneath our feet 

Photo by M. Bridge