Iris

Blue that borders on violet, streaked through with yellow. Magenta, purple and black, like a Gothic Lolita, brooding and petulant. No eye ever had a colour scheme so daring. Tall, elegant, refined. A simple suit of grassy green and a hat that draws attention. Veined or frilly, dark blue or pale, the iris is a delicious flower. The sweetest iris I ever saw was at the Botanical Gardens of Kyoto, pale and frilly in a silent copse filled with native plants. Petals folded and curled like a piece of origami created by a genius. The iris is my favourite flower. I married too early in the year to have them in my bouquet. I buy them as soon as I see them, as soon as their season starts. I buy them and place them, unschooled in the art of flower arrangement, in a vase, on a table, where my eye can rest on the peaceful blue that borders on violet. Flower of a Greek goddess, messenger of love, symbol of eloquence. The blooms that sit in the vase, on the table, stand for faith and hope, which are things we all need. You can keep your lilies and your roses.

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