nce upon a time, in a garden somewhere between here and there, peony blossoms remained tightly wrapped in anticipation of their debut at the grand ball. Even the servant ants worked tirelessly and feverishly to ensure that each fold, each petal, was proper and elegant.
May days are a wonder in the garden. It seems that each day there is something else budding, blooming, or fading away.
A few posts ago, I featured the gradual blooming of the first peony.