Blame it on the rough winter. I can't seem to stop taking flower photos. How do you like this one: a purple iris and a purple iris.
A close up of yet another purple iris -- with raindrops.
And one of the dh's late Aunt Peg's peonies -- closed. If you look closely, you can see a number of ever-present ants on it. Ants love peonies -- I assume there's something very sweet therein. Once, in a book I was reading, the female protagonist cut a bunch of peonies and took them straight into the house. It was most alarming and jerked me completely out of the story. I couldn't help but be immediately focused on the fact that she was going to have a host of uninvited guests all over her dinner table. (I assume the writer had no actual peony experience. Or maybe it's only Aunt Peg's variety of peony that attracts them.)
One of Aunt Peg's peonies -- open.
And one of Mammaw Rose's roses. I rooted this one from a cutting -- which is a miracle on SO many levels. (Let's just say I did not inherit my father's green thumb.) But here it is. Alive. And -- wonder of wonders -- blooming. It even smells like a rose. (I did good, didn't I?)
That's it for this time, except to say "Happy Mother's Day" -- and not just to those of you who are mothers by birth or adoption. If you've ever made a child feel better with a hug, or a smile, or a kind word, you're definitely a "mom." It's your day, too.