Peonies, again

My dad sent me photos of my mother's
peonies today, their buds beginning to bloom
in her backyard botanical garden. 

That car conversation with my dad reminded
me how I’m grateful I exist; 
and I’m grateful that I feel grateful to exist. 

Last year’s peonies and I were left
a mangled chaparral– 
between the deer picking off our
blooms of joy, and the deep snow of cold
circumstance crushing.  

But in this year’s growth the goodness
is so full, and our flowers are so significant,
we kiss the earth. The rich aroma
of our resilience is worship.

And so, alike this year’s peonies, my joy, 
my gratitude, and I join in bowing to our Creator.