I'm not sure when I became such a fan of peonies. They are considerably more frilly than I am after all, a totally incompatible match for me. And yet, I find them strangely compelling. They are bright, effusive, like that over the top, vaguely annoying yet totally entertaining and fiercely loyal friend that you love to be irritated by.
So when I saw that my dear Mr. James Durr had them last week I nearly fainted in rapture. When I took them home they were tight little buds, and I had no idea how idiotically huge they would become upon opening.
But after a day or two, they were like exuberant pom poms sitting on my bathroom sink, and made me smile each time I walked by.
But I walked in the door this evening and saw the saddest sight.
Peony petals in my sink. And my one pink one is wilting.