Lonely Peonies

This used to be a beautiful yard. Mrs. Miller's yard. By the time I ever knew her, she was a crotchety old crone that yelled at all the kids. Throw a little dementia into the mix and you've got a potent grandma cocktail.

She lived in a house across from the lake. A shabby house, really, run down after years of neglect. She never had visitors and I don't know how she ever managed to get groceries. There was no car, not that she'd ever be able to navigate to the store anyway. I heard she had a son but we never saw anyone around. It was just her stumbling around the house and yard trying to make her way in the world.

After she died, someone arranged to have the house razed. It was torn down and a chain link fence erected along side the road to prevent trespassers. Someone might fall down and sue. This is the era in which we live and we have to think about those things. The path she had take so many times to cross the street was now blocked by an impersonal ugly metal obstruction.

There isn't a whole hell of a lot left. If you drove by, you'd never even notice anything but an overgrown lot along the road. The brush now blocks most of the fence from view. I only know what once was because I grew up nearby and took note of the whole scene every time I passed to go swimming at the beach. That was 30 years ago.

But here, today, amongst the dense bushes, is an absolutely gorgeous pink peony bush showing off its blossoms to no one. No one but me, that is. I see it along my walk and take notice of how something so beautiful could be left behind as time marches on. Surely a sterling showpiece in a garden of years gone by, it returns every year in the hopes that someday someone will stop to smell its sweet perfume. Darling, you smell divine.
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