The peony (continuation)

I went back to the Pykes’ to have a look at the peony I transplanted last week. I inspected it with all the attention that Mrs. Pyke would allow me, given that she was talking in indignation about bombscares and other threats. Since yesterday the news was buzzing: the story of that plane travelling between France and Ireland that had to touch down in Scotland. It had landed at Prestwick, one of Glasgow’s airports, after a questionable message found on one of the seats referring to a bomb that was never found… I already knew what had happened, so was only half listening. The news hardly concerns me any more. For my part I’ve already experienced symbolic bombings, that have disconnected me from certain realities.It’s probably too early to say yet, but the buds show no sign of stopping growing. Mrs. Pyke is very attached to this plant. As for me, I put so much energy into it, working in minute detail to preserve every root to its very end, that a strange bond has developed between us, from plant life to human life.I often think about it. This morning the emotion flowed through my veins as I caressed the reddish branches. I’m waiting its flowering, seeing it as a happy omen.

I leave for Kilmartin tomorrow.