Tree peony in the earliest form is as tantalizing as its later bloom. I once wrote a poem about this plant; once in a mood; once when the implication didn't scare; once when I was foolish. Now, I'm willing to leave this particular plant behind when we move. Yet a faint sigh? No, I will not bring a root, a single solitary root, because it should stay out of sight in someone else's home and mind, never mind the heart. My heart has hosted too many roots before and no telling what type of extending mass of invasion a transplanted root might suggest. But, what springs from the root here, in early April, is indeed lovely.