In Gertsenka, a peony paradise has blossomed.

      You enter the second floor—and... You want to breathe deeper, walk slower, and your gaze cannot be torn away from the buds of various colors and sizes. In the corridors of the library, there is the familiar silence, while behind the door of the patent sector, something entirely different is spilled— the palette of summer. A light coolness, a gentle, slightly sweet aroma that makes your head spin, and dozens of peonies—huge, weightless, different, like clouds in the summer sky.

      The staff admitted: when they were setting up the exhibition, they themselves couldn't step away. They ran around, looked, gasped. They said, "Oh my God, how unusual they are, how different." No one expected such beauty.

      The exhibition (12+) was prepared under the guidance of biologist and landscape designer Alevtina Kopylova. It opened on June 16. Initially, it was planned to last three days—until the 19th. But the residents of Kirov flocked in, and the organizers realized: that's it, there's no turning back, as the blooming of late peonies, the "heavy artillery," is ahead, and it would be wrong not to let the people of Kirov enjoy this beauty. The exhibition was extended until June 23.

      "Apparently, there is interest," says collector Flera Vovnyakova, whose peonies are the foundation of the exhibition. "Three days is too little. The weather was cool, the nights were cold, and then all the peonies started blooming at once. We couldn't show all the blooming periods. The early varieties had already faded by the time we opened."

      The collection lives its own life. Every day something changes: wilted buds are removed, fresh ones are placed in their place, new varieties are brought in. On the day of our visit, there were about 40 vases in the hall. Throughout the exhibition, the residents of Kirov will see more than fifty. Some flowers still don't have labels—the variety is undetermined, records were lost by the owners many years ago. But this even adds charm: each peony here is a little mystery.

      Peonies that remember the 19th century

      You stand before a glass vase, and inside it is "Monsieur Jules Eli," a variety from 1888. Bomb-shaped, light pink-lavender, with silvery tips. It smells of old French parks, where ladies in long dresses strolled arm in arm with their suitors.

      Next to it is "Sarah Bernhardt," from 1906. Delicate pink, rose-shaped, with a lilac hue. They say the actress was so beautiful that the flower was named in her honor. And it truly has not lost its grace to this day.

      And this is already our Soviet history. "Pearl Scatter" by Gorobets-Tyran, 1989—Japanese form, light pink-lavender, with a pleasant unobtrusive aroma. "Original" by Anatoly Skakodub—complex shape, pink-white-cream, with raspberry strokes in the center, as if someone carelessly brushed it. "Darya Volodina" by Vladimir Dubrov—milky-flowered, terry-rose-shaped, delicate pink-pearl. Light, airy, like a cloud.

      And here are the overseas guests. "Coral Charm" from the USA, 1964—semi-terry, initially bright coral, almost terracotta, and by the end of blooming, it lightens to the color of boiled milk. You look and can't believe that nature had enough imagination for such a thing.

      "Barcella"—an Ito hybrid, lemon-yellow with red flashes in the center. "Garden Treasure"—yellow, like an egg yolk, with a scarlet spot in the middle. You won't find such in the Kirov gardens. Few have seen them in Russia at all.

      "Each peony is 15 years of work"

      Flera Vovnyakova has been collecting her collection for about ten years. Actively since 2016. She bought from breeders in Moscow and the Moscow region, personally from Vladimir Dubrov, from Larisa Skakodub—the daughter of the famous Anatoly Skakodub.

      Flera talks about peonies as if they were people. Each has its own character, its own whims, its own growth rate. Some wake up quickly, reach for the sun, bloom large and bright. Others are slow, thoughtful, can sit in the ground for four years after division and only then show their true color.

      "To get a new variety, you need to sow a thousand seeds. Of those, maybe six hundred will sprout. Survive and not be culled—one hundred. And only five to eight will be recognized as worthy. And they only bloom in the eighth year. Then there's another check: did the variety retain its characteristics after division? Sometimes not—and back to the basket."

      She gives an example: one root of a new Dutch variety once cost almost half a million rubles at the current exchange rate. The average price of a good, still rare variety in Russia is 50–60 thousand.

      "Peonies are not dandelions," she says. "They don't grow for free."

      Beauty that you want to touch

      The hall is quiet. Only the rustling from the corridor can be heard, and occasionally the sound of glass clinking—someone from the visitors accidentally bumped into a vase while examining a flower up close. People walk slowly, lean down, read the labels. "Exhibitor: Perminova L.N."—means this peony was grown by the hands of a specific person, in their garden, under their sun.

      Flera Raufovna tells how they assembled the exhibition:

      "In my part of the city, the flowers bloom a little later, while in some southern areas—they are already in full bloom. The region is large, and we take advantage of that. Someone brings from Kotelnich, someone from Yurya. Everyone wants to show what they have grown."

      And this is appealing. Not perfect Dutch cuttings from the store, but live, slightly imperfect, yet so real flowers. Some petals are already starting to fall off—but this is their life, their breath. They are not eternal, and that makes them even more valuable.

      "Now the semi-terry form is in fashion, coral, pastel shades," says Flera Raufovna. "Earlier, the French chased after aromas, now the Americans—after stability and bush shape. Peonies, like art, change. But the main thing is—they bring joy."

      She is right. You stand before the vase with "Coral Charm"—and forget about tasks, deadlines, evening traffic jams. You look at the weightless petals, inhale their scent—and exhale everything unnecessary. And you want only one thing: for this summer not to end.

      In the Herzen Library, it is now not just an exhibition. Something greater is spilled here—attention to detail, respect for others' labor, and simply quiet, almost forgotten beauty.