I saw the peony bushes blooming in her family’s yard one morning when I was on a run and detoured past their house on Jasper Street. These peonies brought me to a full stop. I imagined the bliss of watching their blossoms and buds open and photographing them. So, I knocked on the door to ask if I could buy a few, but there was no answer. Not wanting to give up, I took a note to the house a little later and slipped it into the front door screen.

That evening, the girl’s father sent me a text: “My daughter (an eight-year-old who owns the peonies) said she’d sell you four for $1. You’re welcome to come by and clip your four. Just leave a dollar in the flower box on the porch. : )”

The next morning, with a thank-you note and cash in one hand and floral snips in the other, I headed back to Jasper. While making the hard decision on which four to choose, the girl peony grower walked out the door. Wearing a big blue backpack and hoodie, she, her father and brother were headed to the school bus stop. I handed her the envelope and thanked her for growing such beautiful flowers.

“Thank you for the business,” she said and smiled.

“No, thank you,” I answered. “Your peonies are amazing.” (Her father hadn’t shared her name in his text, so I didn’t ask.)

During the past several days, I’ve been photographing the peonies outside under the tall, leafy trees in my backyard. The buds are still opening. The largest bloom, too big to put my hands around when I cut it, is now fading. Its wrinkled, shrinking petals are falling and making a petal puddle around the vase. I’ve picked up the petals and held them in my palm to smell their clove-tea rose perfume.

I’m particularly grateful for these peonies—and their grower. She clearly nurtured them with love. I believe this is the reason for their extraordinary, ethereal beauty. These peonies are also temporal, so I’m grateful for the opportunity to photograph them. I can see this beauty again, even when they aren’t here anymore.

Deep in the woods, at the edge of a winding trail, thousands of Virginia bluebells appear. From under dead leaves and winter’s leftovers, they emerge. They bloom, protected, under a secluded grove of tall trees. Close to the ground, in clusters like readymade bouquets, the blanket of blue stops me full stop. The palette is mesmerizing. Pale cobalt, lavender and fuchsia together. I’ve never seen these colors anywhere except in those flowers. Each one is a jewel. I imagine them as a magic carpet in an enchanted fairy tale.

Today, on Earth Day, I hiked those woods. The bluebells, in full bloom last week, were gone. But I thought about them and how much happiness they gave me. The beauty of one patch of bluebells in a small wood in the middle of the country is immeasurable. Earth offers this beauty everywhere. Earth, thank you for the Happy.

When I hold a lilac blossom close and inhale this fragrance, I’m happy. The perfume is sweet, gentle, happy and exhilarating. It makes a forever memory in my heart and mind.  Lilacs have always been one of my favorite flowers, yet their blooms are so brief. But what they give in those few days lasts until the next spring.

In 1865, Walt Whitman wrote “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d,” a pastoral elegy to Abraham Lincoln. He wrote the poem following Lincoln’s assassination. Whitman had also served in several civilian and volunteer roles during the Civil War. In this poem, he profoundly grieves Lincoln’s death and the war’s tragedy he saw firsthand. Following these experiences, Whitman’s poetry shifted and, through his work, he deeply reflects on death and loss—and the duality of life’s joy and grief. In this free-verse poem, his nature and funeral imagery speak about life’s temporalness and the ephemeral beauty of spring.

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d

Walt Whitman
[verses 1-3]

1
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.

2
O powerful western fallen star!
O shades of night—O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.

3
In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d palings,
Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle—and from this bush in the dooryard,
With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig with its flower I break.

A dandelion wish, to be exact.

For centuries, people around the world have gathered dandelions gone to seed for wish-making. Some legends say floating dandelion seeds become fairies that carry thoughts and dreams to loved ones. While holding their “fairy clocks,” the hopeful blow the feathery seeds into the wind, making wishes as they float away. In some cultures, it’s believed fairy wishes, or wishes on the wind, promise good luck and a happy future.

According to research, these dazzling yellow “wish flowers” originated 30 million years ago. Today, dandelions are often considered plain, ordinary—or a horticultural menace. However, these common flowers are much more than a weed to be eliminated. Across centuries and continents, dandelions have been considered a notable flower species with far-reaching benefits.

These miniature sun replicas are one of the first flowers in spring and one of the last to bloom before winter. The dandelion’s lifecycle is said to represent the sun, moon and stars. The yellow flower represents the sun, the white seed ball represents the moon and the dispersing seeds represent the stars. 

From mountain meadows to cracks in the sidewalk, these resilient, adaptable flowers flourish. Starting early in spring, they provide essential nutrients for birds, bees, butterflies and insects, when other flower species haven’t bloomed yet. Not only are dandelions resilient, they also transform the environment. Their extensive root system loosens compacted soil, releasing nutrients and creating a nurturing setting for flowers and important herbivores and omnivores to flourish.

The dandelion’s medicinal and healing properties are extensive. Its Latin name is Taraxacum officinale, “the official remedy for disorders.” The Chinese first discovered the flower’s capacity to purify the blood and boost the immune system. By the eleventh century, Arabic cultures spread the word that dandelions were effective for treating liver and kidney illnesses. Soon after, dandelions became a staple in European medicine.

The dandelion’s merits don’t end there. They are also delicious and nutritious. Rich in vitamins, minerals and antioxidants, every part of the plant is edible.* Flower, leaves and roots. The green leaves can be added to a salad or sautéed in olive oil. The roots can be cooked like carrots, and the flowers can be eaten raw. In the Victorian era, dandelions were cultivated and included in many recipes.

Finally, dandelions are a favorite flower of children. Through a child’s eyes, dandelions are gifts just waiting to be gathered, loved and shared.

*If they have not been treated with and/or exposed to pesticides or any toxic substance.

From the time I was a child, I spent much of my time at my family’s flower shop. For decades, it was one of the busiest florists in Kansas City—and it was my happy place. I also did nearly every job there until it recently closed. I pulled weeds and watered plants in the greenhouses, processed stock, answered phones, designed, delivered and cleaned. I loved that fragrant, light-filled, flower-abundant place.

Each week, we’d process, design and deliver thousands of flowers. It was hard work, long holiday weeks and so much fun at that shop. Sometimes, among the oceans of flowers there, one or two would stop me. It might be a rose or ranunculus, an orchid or gardenia. For different reasons, these special flowers took my breath away. Each time, I’d think, “I’ve never seen a flower so beautiful.”

From the time I started taking pictures of flowers, that awe and reverence have been part of every photo shoot. And, whether in a shop, greenhouse, garden, field, or on a trail, one or two flowers will nearly bring me to tears.

This happened one Sunday last summer at Loose Park Rose Garden. The August morning was hot and humid and the roses were flourishing. The garden exploded with color, blooms and buds on every bush. Rose fragrance perfumed the air and the dew was like unmelted sparkling ice on the petals and leaves.

Across the garden, a row of bushes draped with blooms caught my eye and I headed that way. Swirling pearl and pink champagne, these roses looked like quinceañera ball gowns, the frothy, opulent blossoms celebrating life.

I turned my camera on and the moment I focused, one rose caught my eye. I lowered my camera to look. It was a heart. Its velvety petals folded and wrapped around each other in perfect symmetry.

I’d never seen a truly heart-shaped rose, and this wasn’t a heart shape I needed to use any imagination to see. It was obvious, observable, big as life. I started taking more pictures of this magical flower when a little boy and his father stopped next to me. The boy walked up to the rose.

“That rose is heart shaped,” I whispered to him. He’d already seen it.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. He didn’t reply. He saw how beautiful it was.

“The heart is his favorite shape,” said the boy’s father and the boy looked at me.

It’s mine, too,” I said and smiled at them.

While I took more pictures, I glanced at this child in love with a rose. It seemed he saw flowers like I did when I was a child. And still do.

I wondered if he was thinking, “I’ve never seen a flower so beautiful.”

There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.

Albert Einstein

Designed to last a lifetime, the calendar celebrates our connections with each other—and with earth’s natural world. The rose and peony images offer a close-up look at these two flowers that have not only captivated the world for eons but are exceptionally important to earth’s pollinator species.

Wrapped in satin leaf ribbon, the calendar makes the best Valentine’s Day gift!

And those eyes. Their big, soulful, deep brown eyes, circled by even bigger patches, draw us in. Our love grows. Scientists say panda eye patches are key to their unspoken communication and recognition. It seems to me they are key to communication with us, too. They’re so cuddly. If we could possibly hug a panda and hide our faces, for a moment, in that soft, generous fur, life would be better. Of course, the panda would hug back.

Pandas make us laugh. A lot. Genuine laughter from deep inside. It’s as if, deep inside, panda bears intend to make us laugh. They probably know exactly what they’re doing because they’re intelligent, thoughtful and wise.

Here is a January, 25, 2026 video of Giant Pandas Qing Bao and Bao Li playing in the snow at Smithsonian’s National Zoo last week. One minute of pure joy.

In the Chinese culture, orchids represent esteemed human qualities and characteristics, including nobility, strength of character, true beauty, peace and inner grace.

Orchids are found often in Chinese prose, poetry, calligraphy, and painting. Orchids also represent the best of something. The finest poems are termed ‘orchid verse.’ Expressive spoken language is ‘orchid words.’ The truest friends are known as ‘orchid friends.’

The Chinese philosopher, Confucius wrote extensively about orchids in his teachings and poetry. He believed these enigmatic flowers represented virtue and good in many ways.

And when two people understand each other in their innermost hearts, their words are sweet and strong, like the fragrance of orchids. Confucius

An orchid grows where others cannot, enduring hunger and thirst… and graces the world with beautiful color and rare fragrance, even if no one is around to appreciate it. Confucius