Yearning to Bow

My daughter took this picture with instagram on the solstice. She noted, "Summer needs no filter."

I planted this peony three years ago in a place that became a secret, hidden by swelling ferns and dwarfed by bamboo. It blossoms only two or three days of the year, just at the dawn of Summer, then drops its petals and vanishes. I never told anyone it was there, but Abigail discovered this flower, and made it ever-lasting. Thank you, Abby.

Just this flower, just this picture, give me such fulfillment. How is that possible? Now that I am older than I ever imagined, yet somehow feel younger than I ever dreamed, I realize how boring my present life would seem to the youth I once was, yet how utterly beautiful it is: this sacrament of little things, brief perpetual pause between seasons, fragrant shadow under the petals of now, and quiet resolution of all my imperfections, into what I Am. 

I wrote a poem about it:

This yearning to bow
to a dawn-lit peony,
to your own out-pouring breath,
to a petal of sound that floats
on the stream of silence....
Bow without knowing why.
All foreheads touch the same ground.
Love has no name.