I’m not one for literal titles yet here I am. Strange things, man, they happen. In their death throes now, my peonies had their proverbial moment in the sun in late May. Pink and glorious, oversized bulbous blossoms beautified my shrub bed with their bounty. Tissue paper petals bunched together in a gift package of pink, ready to welcome a newborn child. Hardly long for this world they bring a respite of joy to eager viewers keen to seek them out. Many people I know laude the coming of the peony, and I am happy to count myself among their rank.
On another note, does anyone have a trick to keep these things from bending under their own weight? Not long after bloom the flower heads take on the oppressed posture of a people suffering under the yolk of a tyrant. It’s unbecoming of their beauty and power. My peonies could use some support, you guys. It is clear The Man (me) has got them down.
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