Iris Irissima

On Tuesday the white  iris by my clothesline began to unfurl. . .

By Wednesday morning, before sunrise she was fully displayed, falls and standards just so, prim and perfect.

Like a virgin princess awaiting the prince's kiss, the iris was waiting for the light's touch to bring her to life . . .

As the sun topped the horizon, the white iris seemed to gather the light to her  . . .

For some time, I stood there in my nightshirt, taking picture after picture, watching the play of light on the translucent petals . . .

The sun pushed higher, gilding the trees . . .

A tint of pink appeared on her pure white petals as the iris blushed at the sun's boldness . . .

  

High in the sky, the waning moon showed off her share of sun . . .



 

 I am captivated by the changing light . . . the shaded fall with the little splash of brightness holds me there . . .

The way the sunlight is caught in that bowl of up-curved petals holds me there . . .

  Finally, as  the slash of light grows stronger, the shadows more defined, I decide to get on  with my day -- make coffee, get dressed -- I can't spend all day with this flower. . .  can I?

An hour later I come back downstairs to hang out the laundry and the irises are dancing in the full sun, just begging for one more picture.