iris

“Yook! Yook! Yook!”
my three-year-old neighbor called
to her mother,
“Yook! I foun’ a yaybug!”
I smile at her discovery
as I weed my front garden.
I’m discovering the names
of the prolific vines that climb
and twine around iris stems,
overrun dried daffodil leaves,
make their beds among soon-to-bloom daylilies—
Virginia creeper, Carolina snailseed,
Black Medick, ground ivy,
Greenbrier, stick-tights,
and wild grape vines with curly tendrils.
Profuse, persistent, possessive,
vines would claim the entire garden
if I let them,
but I’m making way for daylilies,
surprise lilies,
allium and gladiolas.
So I trim back the vines.
Some pull straight out
in long strands.
Some I have to clip,
tugging thin stems taut until I find
the earth-end and then snip them.
Some have twined themselves
around the stem of an iris or a lily
or a curled canna leaf trying to unfurl.
These I carefully and gently unwind.
But I don’t touch the clematis vine
veiling one end of the garden,
for it’s Nature’s bridal bouquet,
soon to bloom in a sweep of small white flowers.
Sultry sunbeams pierce through rain-heavy clouds.
The day sweats and so do I.
Clip.
Tug.
Untwine.
The first white clover appears
under the cannas.
And look! Look!
I, too, found
a ladybug!
Although now,
I think I shall forevermore
call her a
yaybug.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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I sniffed an iris today,
one of those big, bearded ones,
gold with a splash of red wine.
At my mailbox, I bent down,
touched my nose to
cool,
curved,
smooth,
silky petals,
and inhaled its heart-scent.
I knew what it held,
what it always holds—
my childhood,
at least part of it.
The fragrance sent me time-traveling
back to a long ago garden,
a wide triangle edged in gray cinder block
in a West Texas back yard.
The whole flower bed was filled
with irises,
the deep purple bearded kind,
filling the air with perfume.
The rushing wind,
always in a hurry to get somewhere,
made the irises dance.
And when the wind brought rain,
the drops drummed wild music
on the corrugated fiberglass porch roof
that covered the concrete patio where,
on sunnier days,
I sometimes twirled
in my sky blue parachute dress,
which I named for the way
the full skirt swirled when I twirled.
As I turn back to my mailbox,
I am awed and grateful
that this one iris
so gently holds me in its
cool,
curved,
smooth,
silky petals.
My memories are cradled
in the scent
of an iris.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

Carry the Calm

Karyn Henley

Look What I Found!

From the Scent of an Iris