Meadowlark, dog’s bark, cricket chirp, reverently break announcement cards, circulating songs to visitors. Proclaiming fuscia Spring, scent of peonies full figured, opening, rich, luscious, sweet red velvet cake on china, fragile doilies, in soft white lightness. Baby breath plate, raising crystal glasses, Chihuly stems cast, bubbly ginger crisp, toasted Iris Martineli.
The peonies rest, wrapped in formal linen floral. Pleasantry not everyday, garnished result of accidental cleaning. Affected by progressive dinner stoppings. A hop, a skip, a jump for salad, Sicilian tossed, with mozarella freshness, cheese, Balls-amic-basting in a seasoned brine, fringed basil, lemon zested olive oil, dressed dripping, Fineries warm, once missionary cooking, a Christian business calling card, proselyted covenants served-up edible.
Mmmmm. Awake to life and better living. This vision oft confused with sadder funerals, Decoration Days, or to the passing of a well loved Mormon leader, L. Tom Perry. Tribute to the flag, or Veterans; Passed loved ones burried; Crosses errected white on lush green valleys. No. Not that. Nor were these special lovelies meant to be bouquet baguettes for brides. All this behind, before, beside, and drying on the wall somewhere in time. Inserted and inlaid into a wooden etching of the Salt Lake Temple.