{"id":1859,"date":"2013-06-14T14:28:20","date_gmt":"2013-06-14T18:28:20","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.katrinakenison.com\/?p=1859"},"modified":"2013-06-14T14:28:20","modified_gmt":"2013-06-14T18:28:20","slug":"peonies","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/peonies\/","title":{"rendered":"Peonies"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"peoniesT<\/span>he peonies at our house bloomed this week, bursting onto the scene with the fanfare of a chorus line. A hundred or more voluptuous beauties, as fragile as they are flamboyant, the impermanence of life embodied in all shades of cream and palest pink and scarlet. Each fleeting blossom is worthy of its own lipstick shade or rare perfume label.\u00a0 For a day or two they hold their heavy heads up high and I snap photo after photo — trying, in vain of course, to somehow capture their brief moment of perfection.<\/p>\n

And then, too soon, always<\/em> too soon, the heavy heads bow toward the ground, brought low by the sheer weight of their own extravagance.<\/p>\n

Yesterday, beneath a gathering of storm clouds, I walked through the damp grass, bending down to gaze into one fragrant, implausible peony heart after another.\u00a0 And then I cut them all.<\/p>\n

Already, here in the bittersweet beginning of summer I anticipate the poignance of its ending.\u00a0 I wait all year for the peonies\u2019 burst of glory and then mourn the moment’s passing even as it arrives. I know exactly how this languid season will bend overnight to fall; how the water in the lake I have yet to swim in will turn suddenly cold; how the spikes of goldenrod will appear by the roadside as I run down the hill toward town on an August afternoon; how we will walk through the house to close windows at dusk, speaking wistfully of how short the days have grown, marveling at the early darkness and wishing we\u2019d had more dinners on the screened porch when we still had the chance.<\/p>\n

My family has been teasing me for days:\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s only the first of June and Mom\u2019s already sad because summer\u2019s going by too fast!\u201d It\u2019s true.\u00a0 I want so badly for it all to last that I miss it before it\u2019s begun. Which means, of course, that I\u2019m in danger of missing it altogether.<\/p>\n

Last night the rain came down in torrents, keeping me awake.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t mind, really, for the hours of a sleepless night slip by slowly, offering time and space for thoughts to drift. \u00a0(I\u2019m learning through these menopausal years that \u201ctrying\u201d to sleep is always an exercise in frustration, that allowing for wakefulness can actually be less stressful than willing sleep to come.) And in fact, I love lying in bed in the darkness, love listening to the steady thrum of rain on the roof while I\u2019m curled up warm and snug within, no place to go and nothing to do but wait it out. As the storm intensified toward dawn, I thought of the peonies, glad I\u2019d had the foresight to gather them up in time and save them from this relentless lashing of wind and water.<\/p>\n

Of course, they won\u2019t last long in the house, either. But my rescue mission has afforded them a few more days at least. Every vase I own is full, as if we\u2019re preparing to host a wedding here, or a funeral.\u00a0 The air is sweet, each silken petal a work of art demanding admiration, right here, right now: within a week, they really will be gone.<\/p>\n

It occurs to me as I sit typing just inches away from the pitcher full of pink blooms on the kitchen table, that perhaps I cherish my favorite flowers as much for their impermanence as for their beauty. \u00a0If I lived always amidst such spectacle, how soon would it be before I\u2019d take it for granted, or fail to notice it at all?<\/p>\n

Finally, a weak, intermittent sun peeks through the clouds and I\u2019m lured away from the computer, ready for a break. I pour a second cup of coffee and take the time to drink it slowly, sitting outside on the granite step by the kitchen door. \u00a0The swallows are more determined in their work this morning than I am, swooping in and out of the birdhouses, bringing food to their babies. \u00a0Fat bees bounce from blossom to blossom in the salvia and a steady procession of swallowtail butterflies hover over the poppies. \u00a0A dragonfly glistens, emerald green, on the walkway and then lifts off, coming to light briefly at the edge of the birdbath.\u00a0 A chipmunk, cheeks stuffed like a cartoon character\u2019s, pauses, quivering at my feet, before scampering off with his stash to a hole in the stone wall. \u00a0It\u2019s a busy world out here.<\/p>\n

I linger in my spot, watching, for a long time.\u00a0 Everything, it seems, is in harmony with everything else: the insects, flowers, birds, all have given themselves completely to the lushness of this early summer day. Slowly, it dawns on me. These creatures, each industriously tending to the urgent work of being<\/i>, count their brief lives not in months but in moments, and yet they have time enough.\u00a0\u00a0 So do I.<\/p>\n

Eventually, everything ends.\u00a0 Nothing is permanent.\u00a0 Time isn\u2019t ours to own, to measure and mete out in portions.\u00a0 It just is.\u00a0 Instead of wishing for my flowers, or this June day, or summer, or life itself, to last longer, I am simply meant to be here. My only task: to live into whatever the here and now has to offer.\u00a0 Perhaps this is all there is to it \u2013 put one foot in front of the other on the path toward being at peace with what is. And just as lying awake feels easier when I don\u2019t struggle to achieve sleep, accepting the truth of impermanence again and again brings me gently back into alignment with reality.\u00a0 There is joy to be found both in seizing the day and<\/i> in letting it go.<\/p>\n

On Sunday my parents will come over for dinner.\u00a0 We\u2019ll eat out on the porch and celebrate Father\u2019s Day. Our own sons won\u2019t be with us, and I\u2019ll miss them, but absence is part of the fabric of our lives now, their comings and goings woven into this larger, more complex and forgiving family tapestry.\u00a0 So, I\u2019ll set the table for four instead of six, light candles, put on music, write a card for my dad.\u00a0 If the peonies have all gone by, there will be daisies to pick.\u00a0 Perhaps I’ll find strawberries at the market, prepare the first shortcake of the season for dessert. \u00a0Whatever the day brings, I\u2019ll welcome it.<\/p>\n

It’s so obvious, really, and at the same time such a challenge — to let go of our battles, large and small. I keep reminding myself that it\u2019s what we\u2019re all here to do, this ongoing spiritual practice called being alive: notice, give thanks, and open our hearts to things as they are.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The peonies at our house bloomed this week, bursting onto the scene with the fanfare of a chorus line. A hundred or more voluptuous beauties, as fragile as they are flamboyant, the impermanence of life embodied in all shades of cream and palest pink and scarlet. Each fleeting blossom is worthy of its own lipstick […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":15183,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[17,5,7,35,14],"tags":[226,263,337],"class_list":{"0":"post-1859","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-acceptance","8":"category-hearth-home","9":"category-in-the-garden","10":"category-letting-go","11":"category-soul-work","12":"tag-impermanence","13":"tag-letting-go-2","14":"tag-peonies","15":"entry"},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/10\/600x600.png?fit=600%2C600","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1859","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1859"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1859\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15183"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1859"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1859"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1859"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}