It swam from the other side of the pond. A trio of ducks was swimming in the other direction, leaving perfect lines of water like three fighter jets, but the swan crossed them without a fluttering of its pristine wings. We stood beneath the shelter where lines usually waited to board the swan boats. They weren’t running today due to the inclement weather.

The swan approached, its majesty and magnificence in full regal effect. These are gorgeous creatures, but can be dangerous too. A swift blow from one of their awesome wings has been known to break human bones.

Andy watched intently as a foolish family stood by the pond’s edge feeding it. A little boy held out his hand, but the swan did not nip. I was more afraid for what Andy would do than I was what the swan might do (and he later confirmed my suspicion saying he would have had to go in after the kid if the swan grabbed for food and ended up pulling the boy in). According to Andy, parents tended to freeze in such moments.

We watched the swan take the proffered snacks unhurriedly and without timidity or trepidation. I herded us along before the temptation to rescue anyone became too strong, because if Andy went in after someone, I would have to go in after Andy.

The swan swam away as we headed in the direction of the Four Seasons, a usual lunch haunt that had special meaning…

I returned to the condo to pick Andy up, and check on the progress of the peony, and by the time we were ready to head out for the annual Cleaning of the Rings, the rain had lifted a little more. It’s been our tradition at this time of the year to have our wedding rings cleaned at the establishment where we purchased them: Shreve, Crump & Low. (It also affords Andy a peek at some dream time pieces that start at about the price of a Boston bathroom renovation.)

Our umbrellas went up and down a couple of times, as the day was still undecided as to what it was going to do. Our shoes were ill-equipped for such dampness, but we soldiered through, and soon we were back in the lobby of the Taj Hotel, where we spent our wedding weekend seven years ago.

Whenever I’m in the area, I’ll poke my head into the Taj, and when Andy is around he’ll do the same. On this morning, it was very pink, but missing the peonies that so splendidly filled the lobby on the original weekend. It was still pretty enough, with loads of cherry blossoms and vibrant hydrangeas to make up for the peonies’ late start.

We crossed the street into the Boston Public Garden, and were promptly greeted by one of our wild friends there. He seemed especially keen on cozying up to Andy, who indulged in some chit-chat and Instagram photos.

Strolling through the garden, we approached the footbridge, near the spot where the swan boats anchored. We ducked into the little shelter there and waited out another wave of rain. A swan approached from across the pond…

We woke to rain. A steady rainfall is not an unhappy environment in which to fall asleep, but waking to it on a day when you want to walk around is a different story. I went back to sleep for a bit, and when at last I rolled out of bed, the rain had subsided slightly. The sky was brighter, though there was no sign of the sun coming anytime soon. I let Andy sleep while I caught up on the shopping I’d originally intended to finish the night before.

The sky seemed undecided on what it wanted to do. I walked for stretches without an umbrella, and then the rain would fall with greater force, forcing me to open it up. Along Newbury Street, others seemed to be having the same indeterminate conversation with themselves ~ half of us held onto open umbrellas, the remainder hurried along intent on ignoring the situation entirely. I paused to admire a stand of tulips in full bloom and fettered with tiny water droplets. Bound with such beauty, they took on an aspect of freshness that might have been missing on a sunnier day.

A rainy Saturday in May can be a dreadfully dreary proposition, especially when one knows how good such a thing would be with just a little more sunlight. To combat this, I adorned myself in cheery colors (buttercup-yellow pants and a wedgewood-blue raincoat) along with a cheery fragrance (‘Vivaciously Bold’ by Diana Vreeland).

All the while, our peony opened up more and slowly lightened its petals. The deep rose of before was ripening into a coral that glowed with every bit of light it reflected. It was a globe of enchanting beauty, with a fragrance that was entirely new to my limited knowledge of the peony world.

Arriving in the rain (because there was no other way to arrive) we hustled into the Hawthorne Bar, just a few doors down from our dinner destination, Eastern Standard. The Hawthorne is one of my favorite spots in Boston, and the perfect cozy spot for a rainy evening. On hand is a unique list of specialty cocktails, along with recommendations for whatever spirits you favor. I continued the Eastside kick I’ve been on of late, and Andy tried out the Hemingway daiquiri once I assured him it did not come in a big-ass daiquiri glass with a rod of fruit sticking out of it. We were equally pleased with our choices.

After our cocktails, and the requisite Instagramming of said libations, we hurried down the street to Eastern Standard. Despite the years I’ve been in Boston, and the years that ES has been around, this was the first time I’ve made it into the place. It was worth the wait, with its handsome interior, and another list of glorious cocktails. My mind was more intent on the oysters you see here ~ roasted for a switch, and amended with breadcrumbs and good stuff to give it just the right slant for a cold night.

They also sent out a pair of glasses filled with sparkling rosé wine for our anniversary, the very best sort of surprise when one is visiting a restaurant for a special occasion. It was a lovely cap for our first dinner, and we piled back into a car despite the fact that the rain was letting up. (Alas, it was but a tease, and the rain would continue into the next day…)