Peony

I received a box; a long, flat, cardboard box, that made no sound at all when I shook it gently. There were no clues on the packaging. What could it be? Who was it from?

The postman handed it to me, with a wink, and for some reason I was slightly offended - what did he think he knew, that I didn't?

I delivered a curt thank you and then took the package inside, laying it on the table in front of me; not wanting to spoil the magic of not knowing.

I looked at the box for a long moment before eventually breaking the seal with my nail-file and carefully lifting the lid to reveal the palest of pink tissue paper cradling what looked like dried stems of foliage.

I was somewhat surprised, and left the foliage for a moment, instead lifting the small white card that had been placed on top of the paper. The message was brief and offered no explanation to my curiosity.  'Please water me'.

Now amused, a smile curled at the corner of my mouth - this was like a riddle, posed for a child. I went to the cupboard and rinsed a vase, the dullness of it's cut-glass showing how long it had been since it was last used. I trimmed the ends of the stems and set the sorry-looking collection of woody sticks into water, reluctantly acknowledging that they were probably beyond saving, but hoping nonetheless.

The next morning, to my delight, a metamorphosis had occurred, a small miracle. The brittle stems had been resurrected from the muddy brown of yesterday to a deep bottle green, their once papery leaves now plumped like shining disks of polished leather. Atop each slender stem sat a small, perfectly round bud, encased in delicate, pale petals and improbably balancing like a ballerina; defying the natural forces of gravity.

Over the next few days, I watched joyfully as the buds grew larger and changed colour; the original outer petals, peachy and brittle, gradually opening to reveal salmon, then flamingo and at last the finale - soft, velveteen, petals of raspberry and cerise. I felt as though I was witnessing a wonderful birth as each new version of pink unfolded before my eyes.

There were not enough days of perfection - maybe two or three - before the colours faded; the whole ‘cut blooms’ life cycle reaching its inevitable completion. With it was delivered a sadness I could not have predicted, and yet, I felt as though I had been given both the temporary gift of beauty and the lingering wisdom of realisation, that nothing lasts for ever.

Two weeks later, I received a belated birthday card from a good friend. The message inside read, 'I hope you liked the flowers - I hope they survived the journey. I will try harder next year!’ I replied that it was the best present that I had ever been given.

This year, inspired by the lingering memory of their beauty, a host of glorious pink peonies sway above their delicate stems, defying gravity in my garden.