Peony and triangle mandala across upper back

The peonies came up from the bulbs your grandfather planted the autumn the hall roof leaked, and they came up so heavy this June that Pearl from next door had to prop them with broom handles. I know you wanted them cut for the tables at the reception, but I've left the big ones on the bush for the photographer, the way you asked. The little pale ones I've brought in a jam jar, and they're on the windowsill by the kettle.

Your grandfather's drawing is still in the biscuit tin, under the tax returns. Do you remember it? Triangles inside triangles, every line made of dots, because he said a ruler lied about thickness and a dot never did. He spent three weeks with a fine nib and a magnifying glass on the back of an old surveyor's plan, and when he finished he couldn't say what it was for. I think it was only to keep his hands busy while the rain came in.

Bring it along if you like. Tuck it in your bag, not in the frame. Nobody needs to see it but you and Dev, and maybe the vicar, who I suspect would appreciate the geometry.

Love you, and don't let the florist talk you into lilies.

Nan