The irises in my garden were budding on the day I left for Nashville 12 days ago and they’re all but gone to papery crisp today. How did this happen? How did June turn up so quickly? How could the never-ending winter leave no traces as I walk barefoot on the grass; feet with no memory of snow? So many moments, images jockeying for space, bankrupting the memory bank since coming home? Insights and images popped weeks ago are ancient history with new ones waiting in the wings. Pages and pages of documentation and journaling simply skim the surfaces of facts. So many things happened my brain is a water-logged sponge dripping excess.
But who cares. All that matters is the last irises is front of you or the cat purring on your lap. Iris time is brief. How will you enjoy yours?