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June 3, 2015

I went on a bliss walk looking for you today.

Smelling you before I saw you.

Some 15 feet away!  Peonies!  Quel silage!

Thick and sweet.  Just shy of cloying.  A bit of citrus, only a hint of the sweetest citrus blossom.  A shy hint.

Mostly pure floral.  A very sweet grandma smell.

I brush my cheek against you, sweet peony, in an almost air kiss and inhale you more.  You are so soft to my skin, as only a lady of a certain age is.  The smell is a bit earthier, still so floral.

How I see the youth in you, your bright effervescence.  You approving smile and reassuring applause.  But your ripeness too, dear peony.  That confident, floral silage of love and nurturance.  Big Beads and glittery jewels.  And always your magnificent scent.

Treasuring them both.

How like my grandmothers you are.  So beautiful in your jovial sparkle, yet also so full and ripe and properly floral.  How grateful I am for your presence each year.  My grandmothers are no longer physically here yet I feel them through your sweet, joyful, soft presence.

I went on a bliss walk today…


Chicago alley transformed to country lane with peonies…

Hey Gentle Reader  – what sort of flowers are your grandmas?

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