The first purple irises are opening along the rock wall, their three petals descending like the landing gear on spaceships.
The view from my front porch every morning, in 140 or fewer characters
Tag Archives: iris
The first irises have opened in the...
The first irises have opened in the night, some with red and yellow tongues, some with violet, sampling the morning air.
Two grackles appear at the woods’...
Two grackles appear at the woods’ edge, iridescent black against the brightest green of the year. In the garden, the first yellow iris.
Also tagged common grackle, garden
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In the tall grass beside the road,...
In the tall grass beside the road, two yellow iris—last survivors of that phalanx planted 30 years ago, when we still dreamt of order.
Also tagged garden
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After decades of segregation by color...
After decades of segregation by color, the irises in my garden seem to have interbred: beside the porch, yellow petals with purple wings.
Also tagged garden
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The Cooper’s hawk chases a redtail...
The Cooper’s hawk chases a redtail out of the woods—guided missile, staccato cry—and lands in a tall yard tree. The first yellow iris.
Also tagged Cooper's hawk, robin
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Warm, humid, and overcast. In the side...
Warm, humid, and overcast. In the side garden, the first twelve yellow irises opened in the night. Small flies walk all over my legs.
Also tagged garden
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