The Iris
I suppose I don’t need to remind you that it is January. I, however, was mildly surprised and annoyed when I woke up this morning to 70-degree, balmy weather. Although I love (love) living in North Florida, I sometimes long for picturesque, icy landscapes, or at least cool weather systems that come and sit for a spell instead of breezing by on the way to the Atlantic. And of course, we can thank global warming for making truly brisk Tallahassee winters a thing of the past.
So I was grumpy when I got in the (sticky) car, and I was grumpy driving to WeMoon. And then I arrived, and I was greeted by a single most perfectly ruffly white-yellow iris. The “uncharacteristically” warm weather had fooled the flower into coming out, and there she stood, tall and proud and elegant, and refusing to apologize for showing up so unexpectedly and for being so overdressed for such a modest and properly winterish garden.
On one hand, I find it frightening and sad that our climate is changing. I know the earth and its climate are always changing, but some of the biggest changes are made by human actions, and without considering the health of the earth or its other creatures. On the other hand, I feel it is neccessary to strike a balance between living in the now and living for the future; when I relax the notion that January ought to mean a set of very specific circumstances, I am free to enjoy the pluck of this first-ever bloom in the WeMoon Spirit Gardens.
Although we may carry signs and write letters and join citizens' groups to demonstrate our committment to helping the earth, we also must continue to love and laugh and live well ON the earth. When I think of this, feeling the sweat on my skin as I weed, seeing the white flower as big as a fist out of the corner of my eye no matter where I am in the garden, I feel a renewed. Yes, there is genuine and immediate need to take action to improve our environment. Yes, taking that path is tough, but there will be beautiful and surprising things that happen on the way. I refuse to live with my head either in the clouds or stuck in the sand. I made a mental pledge to come here on Saturday mornings with the intent to work in harmony with a small patch of the earth, but also to open my heart to her messages of joy, love, and light.
There is a green plastic two-seat bench in the garden, and if you are the type to seek out the company of particularly communicative flowers, then I would invite you to take a lunch or a book there some time this week. I hope you, too, are surprised and renewed by what you see and feel.
So I was grumpy when I got in the (sticky) car, and I was grumpy driving to WeMoon. And then I arrived, and I was greeted by a single most perfectly ruffly white-yellow iris. The “uncharacteristically” warm weather had fooled the flower into coming out, and there she stood, tall and proud and elegant, and refusing to apologize for showing up so unexpectedly and for being so overdressed for such a modest and properly winterish garden.
On one hand, I find it frightening and sad that our climate is changing. I know the earth and its climate are always changing, but some of the biggest changes are made by human actions, and without considering the health of the earth or its other creatures. On the other hand, I feel it is neccessary to strike a balance between living in the now and living for the future; when I relax the notion that January ought to mean a set of very specific circumstances, I am free to enjoy the pluck of this first-ever bloom in the WeMoon Spirit Gardens.
Although we may carry signs and write letters and join citizens' groups to demonstrate our committment to helping the earth, we also must continue to love and laugh and live well ON the earth. When I think of this, feeling the sweat on my skin as I weed, seeing the white flower as big as a fist out of the corner of my eye no matter where I am in the garden, I feel a renewed. Yes, there is genuine and immediate need to take action to improve our environment. Yes, taking that path is tough, but there will be beautiful and surprising things that happen on the way. I refuse to live with my head either in the clouds or stuck in the sand. I made a mental pledge to come here on Saturday mornings with the intent to work in harmony with a small patch of the earth, but also to open my heart to her messages of joy, love, and light.
There is a green plastic two-seat bench in the garden, and if you are the type to seek out the company of particularly communicative flowers, then I would invite you to take a lunch or a book there some time this week. I hope you, too, are surprised and renewed by what you see and feel.
posted by Honey Youngblood at 6:14 PM
<< Home