June 18, 2022
It’s Saturday, and wait until you hear what I found yesterday. There’s been a patch of irises in front of the porch since long before I was born. Gorgeous, picture-perfect brilliant blue Siberian irises. I suspect my great grandmother planted them, along with two mystery peonies that the rugosas refuse to let bloom.
These irises like to wander. Some jumped across the road and formed a new compound in the field. And from there, another breakaway sect decided to form its own village along the well path. There’s even a tiny clump in the swamp, how on earth did they get all the way over there?
Anyway, I was admiring a new cluster that’s been settling on the other side of the porch when something white caught my eye. Wait, what’s this? A white iris? Was I witnessing a botanical miracle? Genetic odds at work? Does this happen all the time? Or, hear me out, had Old Man Cooter snuck down and planted it there just to mess with me?
“Where will I be five years from now? I delight in not knowing. That's one of the greatest things about life, its wonderful surprises.”
Onwards into the mystery,