Peony - The Dignity of Being Soft and Strong
Mornings sometimes begin with a heaviness that belongs not to the physical body, but to memory - that deep, concealed memory of the cells that remember every expectation imposed upon us from the outside. Light creeps through the linen curtains slowly, sparse and almost timid, as if afraid to disturb the dreams still swaying in the shadows of the room. On the wooden table, right where the first sunbeam touches the surface, stands a vase of peonies. Their bloom is opulent, heavy, saturated to the absolute limit - like a heart that has allowed itself to be filled completely , without fear of overflowing, without guilt for taking up so much space. I gaze at them in the quiet of the early hour and think of those days when everything within us required us to be small, convenient, quiet, and unobtrusive, so as not to disturb anyone with our presence. The peony makes no apologies for its fullness. It is not frugal, not modest in the display of its life, and does not strive t...