Poppy’s Prized Peony
Photo courtesy of Ann Herzing
Poppy spent most her days in her greenhouse, which was really a converted shed with a ramshackle roof. The windows were from an abandoned warehouse, and tattered white plastic tarpaulins acted as insulation. But inside, it was warm and cozy. Poppy had filled the space with all her favorite plants: from bright red geraniums, vibrant purple and white-striped petunias, and tangerine-tinted marigolds, to savory herbs of sage, rosemary, thyme, and the ever-soothing lavender. Her most prized possession, however, was a potted peony bush.
She kept the bush on a rickety table separate from the other plants. It was an heirloom, its tuberous roots passed down for generations, from her great-great grandmother and now to Poppy herself. Yet, for the past three springs Poppy had been growing this lush plant, it never produced a single bud or blossom. This fact baffled Poppy and it was why she kept it in the greenhouse and tended to it night and day.
One weekend, her grandmother, Calendula, came for a visit and Poppy showed her the peony. “What am I doing wrong, Grandma Cally?” Poppy asked, desperation in her voice.
“Sometimes, when we want something too much, we forget to appreciate what we already have,” was all that Grandma Cally would say. Then, she bent over the peony and whispered in the folds of the old plant’s leaves before walking out of the greenhouse to start her day.
That evening, Poppy was watering the other plants when she noticed a frothy pink blossom on the peony, complete with three tiny buds. “Oh how exciting!” she exclaimed and grabbed her shears and snipped off the bloom and buds. She set the tiny bouquet in a crystal vase and carried it inside where she set it on the dining room table in hopes that Grandma Cally could enjoy the floral delight with her morning coffee.
As Poppy went to bed that night, she heard a faint whispering from outside. “Poppy. Put me in the garden.” The voice seemed to be coming from the greenhouse. In fear, Poppy closed her window and snuggled deep under her covers. Yet, the whispering voice continued throughout the night and into the early morning.
Exhausted, Poppy wiped the sleep from her eyes as she shuffled into the dining room that next morning. She let out a cry when she saw the wilting flower and drooping buds. When Grandma Cally came downstairs, she found Poppy crying at the table.
“Oh Granny! What should I do?” Poppy sobbed.
Grandma Cally took her granddaughter by the hand and led her straightaway to the greenhouse. They picked up the drooping peony and planted it in the sunniest spot in the yard. Their hands tinted black from digging in the rich soil.
Later that evening, the two women sat on the front porch and enjoyed the thriving peony bush that was covered with the biggest and loveliest-scented pink flowers in the entire neighborhood.
This is the second magical realism short, short story I wrote for my May photo contest. Join me on Instagram or Facebook if you’d like a chance to enter a photo and your name into a drawing for a signed copy of my upcoming magical realism novel, Guardians of the Keys.