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 shade or rare perfume label. 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.
And then, too soon, always too soon, the heavy heads bow toward the ground, brought low by the sheer weight of their own extravagance.
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. And then I cut them all.
Already, here in the bittersweet beginning of summer I anticipate the poignance of its ending. I wait all year for the peonies’ 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’d had more dinners on the screened porch when we still had the chance.
My family has been teasing me for days: “It’s only the first of June and Mom’s already sad because summer’s going by too fast!” It’s true. I want so badly for it all to last that I miss it before it’s begun. Which means, of course, that I’m in danger of missing it altogether.
Last night the rain came down in torrents, keeping me awake. I didn’t mind, really, for the hours of a sleepless night slip by slowly, offering time and space for thoughts to drift. (I’m learning through these menopausal years that “trying” 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’m 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’d had the foresight to gather them up in time and save them from this relentless lashing of wind and water.
Of course, they won’t 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’re preparing to host a wedding here, or a funeral. 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.
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. If I lived always amidst such spectacle, how soon would it be before I’d take it for granted, or fail to notice it at all?
Finally, a weak, intermittent sun peeks through the clouds and I’m 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. The swallows are more determined in their work this morning than I am, swooping in and out of the birdhouses, bringing food to their babies. Fat bees bounce from blossom to blossom in the salvia and a steady procession of swallowtail butterflies hover over the poppies. A dragonfly glistens, emerald green, on the walkway and then lifts off, coming to light briefly at the edge of the birdbath. A chipmunk, cheeks stuffed like a cartoon character’s, pauses, quivering at my feet, before scampering off with his stash to a hole in the stone wall. It’s a busy world out here.
I linger in my spot, watching, for a long time. 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, count their brief lives not in months but in moments, and yet they have time enough. So do I.
Eventually, everything ends. Nothing is permanent. Time isn’t ours to own, to measure and mete out in portions. It just is. 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. Perhaps this is all there is to it – 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’t struggle to achieve sleep, accepting the truth of impermanence again and again brings me gently back into alignment with reality. There is joy to be found both in seizing the day and in letting it go.
On Sunday my parents will come over for dinner. We’ll eat out on the porch and celebrate Father’s Day. Our own sons won’t be with us, and I’ll 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. So, I’ll set the table for four instead of six, light candles, put on music, write a card for my dad. If the peonies have all gone by, there will be daisies to pick. Perhaps I’ll find strawberries at the market, prepare the first shortcake of the season for dessert. Whatever the day brings, I’ll welcome it.
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’s what we’re all here to do, this ongoing spiritual practice called being alive: notice, give thanks, and open our hearts to things as they are.
What a beautiful piece, Katrina. I seem to be having a harder and harder time with the letting go part these days, just too much change in a short period of time for me, I think. Thank you for the reminder of what I will miss out on if I don’t begin to focus on the here and now – and it WILL be gone in the blink of an eye. Enjoy the summer, and Happy Fathers’ Day to Steve and your Dad.
What great timing: earlier this morning I was at the supermarket, savoring the sight of the huge dark pink peonies sitting in a bucket. (They weren’t as pretty as the ones in your photo, though!) I don’t have peonies in the yard, but the roses are my own call to mindfulness. I just love it when all of my vases are full!
I hope you have a great Father’s Day celebration.
Thank you Ginny. I think the plants we live with every day DO serve as our call to mindfulness — even the tree outside my bedroom window. When I’m “awake” that tree is a wonderful companion, a reminder that the world is so much bigger than me.
I was feeling sad because my youngest graduated from middle school today. I was thinking of all the wonderful years she spent there and realized it was over. Your words made me feel much better. I will try to live in the moment and not be sad about what’s over. Thanks!!
Every day I have some version of this thought: I can’t change what’s over, but I can change the way I think about it. You nailed it. Thank you, Susan.
It’s funny, I’ve been thinking about peonies a lot lately, too. Their fragility, what they symbolize. Thank you for reminding me of what is important, and for helping me slow down.
Perhaps they symbolize faith and acceptance, both. For as I now empty vases of the ones that have wilted, I feel less sad, knowing that I paid attention, that all things have their season, that life goes on.
Just wanted to say I recently finished Magical Journey. I adored it. I just turned 50. I became a yoga teacher a few years ago so I could relate to your journey so well. I am recommending it to friends. Thank you.
Thank you, Sue. Word of mouth means so much to me, so I’m honored that you’re sharing my book with friends.
Beautiful post Katrina . Really enjoyed reading it. As the lead actor in the movie ` The life of Pi` says….Life is a long process of letting go , and it hurts sometimes because we sometimes never get time to say goodbye to the ones we care about.
Thanks Murali. And I think I need to see this movie — anything to help navigate this long process of letting go. For life surely is that, and I want only to become more graceful at it.
Beautiful! I too watching our magnolia bloom get so sad of the passing of summer but thank you for the reminder to be present! Have a lovely day.
Katrina, How ironic! I too have every vessel in the house pressed into service of peony display. I was so afraid they would be done blooming before my daughter arrived for a visit from California. The fragrance that wafts through the house as I pass their pom-pom blooms is intoxicating.
Thank you for the reminder to slow down, stop even, and treasure the moment. Whenever I become frenzied with life, I stop and remind myself, “What is wrong right now?” The answer is always, “Nothing, nothing is wrong.”
I will remember this, too: Nothing, nothing is wrong. What a perfect mantra.
Oh, Katrina – I’m sure it does not surprise you that I was in tears before I’d gotten to the end of the first paragraph. Just this week I wrote about peonies, about how it’s taken me 38 years to realize that my passion for them must surely be as much about the way their lifespan is short, as much as it is spectacular. And last week I tweeted that I was already worried about summer going too fast – sometimes I think we are two bodies with the same soul inside (I hope that isn’t an insult! :)).
Thank goodness for the deep, reassuring knowledge that there’s a kindred spirit out there. xoxox
I thought of you as I wrote this, of course. Yes, we share peonies — for all the obvious reasons. And I, too, am grateful for our kinship. Have to warn you: if you think time flies by at 38, just wait til you’re halfway through your fifties!
loved the post and I agree although I need to remind myself quite often still about just “being” and “enjoying” and impermanence.
I love your books too
Thank you for taking the time to share your impressions with us. More and more, I feel like, at the age of 48, that my purpose in this life that I have is simply to trust and be accepting of what it is to be — that we are enfolded in the divine and that wisdom guides us if we stop and let it. I’m not so heartbroken now when my beautiful peonies (my favorite flower as well) get destroyed EVERY year by the rain because I see new flowers getting ready to bloom. This year, especially, I’m anticipating the bloom on a plant (whose name I can’t remember)as it will mark the first anniversary of the passing of my sweet cat of 17 years. My mother-in-law gave me the plant when Necco passed last year. It’s a nice reminder of him and that love and life are perennial. Happy Father’s Day to you all — enjoy the music, the strawberries, and each other.
I love the tradition of planting something special in honor of a loved one, human or animal. It’s such a fine reminder of the beauty of life’s cycles. Lovely reflection. Thank you.
And yet, and yet…here’s the thing. Peonies, like all perennials, may only bloom for that all too fleeting and blissful window of days or weeks, but they have the good grace to come back, every year, unbidden. You turn the calendar, the days get longer, and there they are, right on schedule. And while those impatiens in my window boxes will be there all summer, they won’t come back next spring, not unless I go the the garden center and buy a new flat and start them over. And while they’re here, they’ll fill in the space that cries out for some color, but they’ll never take my breath away. It’s as if the shortness of the perennials’ glory is what makes our hearts sing–here they are, and there they go. Daffodils, lilacs, iris, peonies, all fleeting, all eternal. Their life span isn’t that week in June, it’s the spring after spring, the summer after summer, that they keep taking our breath away.
Fifteen years ago, a friend with a riot of peonies in her back yard gave me the gift of a vaseful for my birthday. But better yet, she gave me a card that invited me to come back to her garden, every year around my birthday, to replenish that vase. Best birthday gift ever. And proof of peonies’ everlasting magic, don’t you think?
Kristen this is so beautiful. I love that your friend offered you this perennial gift of her perennials. I have impatiens, too, but had never thought of this. Of course you’re right. OUr hearts sing for what is fleeting.
I planted peonies in the yard several years ago and they had never bloomed so in despair had decided to pull them up this spring, but to my delight and surprise I saw buds starting to form so I left them and I am so glad I did, they were glorious if short lived.
Patience rewarded: another lesson from the peonies! (THey also don’t like to be planted too deep. And they love sun. . .til it gets too hot, of course!)
Here again you remind us how fleeting moments are. We need to be present and
to also honor the past. It’s Father’s Day and my children are now young adults, working. We celebrated Father’s Day the weekend before so they could be with their dad. My father passed away eight years ago. Until today, I hadn’t realized it has been that long. I miss him everyday. Thank you for reminding me.
Thank you Linda. You are so right, about honoring the past AND being present, both.
This is so beautiful that my heart aches. In a good way. Here in the south summer has a brutality to it and in its early days I am already worried and wondering how long it will last and when it will be over. Thank you for this reminder that life is not something to be gotten through but savored. I can’t remember the exact quote but Jack Kornfield wrote that an awakened heart stops waging war on the way things are. Reading about the short days of peonies and long nights of insomnia awakened my own heart – as your words always do – to the beauty of life. Thank you!!
Oh, I love that quote. And of course my heart needs to be awakened again and again. Thanks Pam!
Thank you, thank you, for writing this. My lesson to learn right now is the peacefulness of being in the ‘now’, not worrying about what is to come. I can’t grow peonies in California, but my lilies are about to bloom, and I will surely savor every morning moment with them.
It really is a universal lesson: the work of being in the moment. Glad to share this path with you.
It is father’s day, I am so glad I saved reading this post until tonight….because I really needed it. My 3 grown children came home to see their father and a cook out….my peonies are in full bloom and I too have several vases scattered through out the house….and as hard as it is to coordinate and get everyone here at the same time….i felt sad because it went so fast and I wanted to hang on to my grown kids, the day, the peonies, the memories of my own father, and all the years, of being a mom, wife, daughter, sister and all i really want is more time people a nd things that i love! Life is impermanent, thank you for the reminder to stop smell the roses or the peonies and make time to listen and be present for others, especially those you love!
So poignant, Meg. I know all these feelings so well, especially that swirl of emotion that surrounds family moments. Thank you for writing tonight.
Hello Katrina,
Just ordered your new book. Looking forward to taking it to our little town just up Rt. 31, sitting on the porch and reading your lovely writing. Visiting Toadstool for an autograhed copy for my daughter… I so miss peonies here in Texas, oh and lilacs too! So anxious to leave for NH. But, your post reminded me to try not to mourn the leaving in August already but revel in the 8 weeks I will have with a new grandchild, our friends, our lake, and each and every simple joy of summer in New Hampshire.
Thanks,
Holly in Texas
I have spent the last 5 years waiting/wishing/mourning for a third child that just isn’t meant to be for our family, and a couple of weeks ago I realized that in that time I have missed a great deal of the joy of life with the two lovely boys that I do have. Your post is a lovely reminder that living NOW is vital to all our happiness. As you said – being open to things as they are. Thank you.
Katrina I feel the same way about our summers here in Maine! And the lilacs….. We are so very busy during the long cold winter that when the lilacs are finally blooming its our slow down signal and they never last as long as we’d like…. But then our beautiful hydrangeas bloom for weeks on end in a gorgeous blue color and I dry them indoors to a really cool purpley-gray – another signal if change. Our fleeting summers here are when I am off from work till school starts up again and my vacations are in the briefest of moments when the fireflies are out or the loons are calling – the times in between driving a teenager to sports practices or doing the grocery shopping so I’ve learned to take what I can get and enjoy it while I can – even in those sleepless hours just like you wrote about – learning to love it all as part of my plan…. I live reading your posts, it validates a lot of what I think about!!