Piwonie

This morning was sunny and bright. I opened the window and the air had a smell of the spring rain. Suddenly another aroma joined the air. The fragrance of peonies, which my daughter brought from the garden and placed in a glass vase.

I don’t know why, but the scents bring me instantly to the places associated with them, playing games with my brain, activating the memories otherwise not recollected and somewhat fogged down.

The sweet smell of just one single red peonia, standing motionless in front of me, transported my occupied mind in a split of a second to the festive day of Corpus Cristi processions (Boze Cialo). I could almost touch the flower’s petals in my basket, which I carried a small child during the Corpus Christi procession. I would gracefully throw in front of the priest carrying Eucharist, and hundreds of the parish believers would follow behind.

The next memory was of the sense of unrestricted imagination associated with the coming spring carrying unexpected adventures. The feeling of growing expectations, untamed and unbalanced, carrying the vigor of the surely bright and fulfilling future was sweeping me away. Nothing less then life with it’s highest possibilities and confidence in the upcoming times, trusting forward, forgetting the former, throwing myself into almost unreachable layers of fantasies – all of these thoughts were swirling around, not wanting to be caught by a categorically established rules of things to be. Possibilities of loss or suffering on the way were out of the picture. The sense of hope was ruling and drawing my already tickled soul into the risky ventures of the familiar, and at the same time unknown feelings mingled with reality. Where was I and were was the world. The only sensible thing to do in my mind then was to unquestionably jump off the cliff and eagerly experience what was not lived yet before.

Another memory was of my grandmother’s garden with lots of peonies everywhere. They would bloom shortly, but furiously, giving their beauty to the world, and quickly dying, envied and missed by many till the next season of life would come around. I could almost feel the smoothness of them under the palms of my hand, stroking it gently, imagining rich, pleasant velvet and royal beds from the ancient times covered with luxurious muslin.

All if this happened in a split of a second. How did God made a human mind to do THAT?

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