Peony

Spying a mischievous nymph said to hide in the petals of the Peony can be a wonderful pastime for any little girl on a warm summer day in her grandparents' backyard.

Sitting on the sun warmed green back porch stairs. A gentle breeze rustles the young leaves of the giant Silver Maple. Underneath the peony jungle.
Like weeds, they grow along the property edge. Invading the cement walkway laid in the grass.
Sandals abandoned elsewhere. Toes curled downwards as knees clench a chipped tea cup filled with fine white sugar. A rhubarb stalk, freshly cut, juicy and crisp clutched in my sun browned hand.
Greedily I dunk it into the depths of the sweet crystal snow. My witch's brew that would alarm any dentist. Swishing and swirling the granules to ensure a heavily doused treat from heaven, my taste buds sing to the angels as I suck.
Encouraged by the warm breeze, the Peonies nod in agreement as I scamper up the stairs, warm feet shocked by the cool kitchen linoleum floor, in search of more sugar.

Lilly of the Valley
Truly nothing is better then sitting at the kitchen table and having a gentle breeze from an open window send perfume kisses.

Under the maple tree they grew. Beside the shaded bed of these little bells would I stand. Barefoot. Cool grass under my toes. In the bird house above. Busy Robin parents feeding the hungry brood. Sunlight dappling my arm. A moving abstract of random patterns forever changing. A little nose. Sun-kissed with freckles. A homemade summer dress. My hair in pigtails. Later. My first perfume purchase. So many years later they still grow.