My blog friend Juliet of Seasonal Inspirations in New Zealand just did a post about the repetition inherent in a blog about the changing seasons. It's Autumn in NZ and she and her friends are digging sweet potatoes, (See her post HERE.) I thought of her when I went out the basement door to fill the bird feeder and saw that the glorious white iris was blooming again.
Every year, it kind of bowls me over -- the way the sun shines through the petals, the play of light and shadow . . .
And every year I take pictures -- probably indistinguishable from those of the year before . . .
And then I go out the next day and there are more blooms . . .
And the sun is catching the red barberry leaves just so . . .
And a pair of blooms are unfolding in a stately pas de deux . . .
And the curves and shapes and shades and shadows are so delicious . . .
And I take more pictures . . . for my annual ode to the white iris just outside the basement door.
12 comments:
Why don't I plant iris. These are so beautiful!
Beautiful association with the basement door. Makes for a nice emergence.
Beautiful.
Our lovely Iris stopped flowering, so I moved them to a sunnier spot. No flowers. Then this year ... at least 8 buds!!! YAY!
Your thoughts on your iris remind me of
XXII
from Spring and All (1923)[1]
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
William Carlos Williams
Beauty begs to have homage made to it. Yes.
You can't have too much of a good thing Vicki!
Absolutely breathtaking!!! Wow!!! I do love the iris!
I love your ode to the white iris. It's lovely.
Lovely return of the beautiful iris!
Pablo Neruda wrote odes to fried potatoes, artichokes, everything that somehow touches his artist's soul. Your homage in pictures does so just as beautifully.
Irises are so delicate and pure. You have captured those qualities beautifully
Vicki, your white iris are so worthy of this annual tribute! What a joy to walk outside in the morning and see those translucent petals in the sunlight.
Wow! xo
Every year the same and yet every year subtly different, that's the wonder of it. I NEVER get tired of nature.
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