~ Iris, the Greek goddess of the rainbow who gave humans the gift of free will, how fitting that her flowers grew in all the colors each coded by a unique scent ~
By the time he was almost properly finished with whatever issue this crisis was meant to overcome the spring air was redolent of wet irises, their scent fresh and acrid like dew and earth. Each a unique aroma: the clove of the pale blue, juicy grape of deep violet, and a sharp something Miguel found hard to define in the pale orange, as if it hadn’t decided between turmeric and bitterness. Muscular rhizomes spiked imaginative splats of watercolor consciousness and sensational textures. They issued instructions for how to be boldly flamboyant without excuses.
In the fall Selene asked Camille to dig up iris rhizomes with her, the gnarly humanoid knuckles burrowed along the surfaces, their finger roots proliferated as if to own the land. As they spread, they offered themselves to be thinned and shared. When dried over three to five years they could then be crumbled, mortar ground, and steam distilled to make orris absolutes, the base for many evocative essences. Selene was patiently culling by variety into burlap bags tied with yarn that indicated the flower’s color. She said each plant had a unique scent. Camille only remembered a musty grape odor she hadn’t liked.
Ruby wrote in the gratitude journal “Thank you for the majesty of Siberian iris, bold violet, black tufted ends of fluffy beards and lavish purple tongued petals. Look at the delicate orpiment cornmeal lapping up the aisle of your stunning array of creamy white. You’re a study in blatant exposure and coy hidden places curling over each other in tissue petals draped like sheets on a nude.” Ah Spring foments lost, and colors amplified to render her useless senses less horrifying, soft epistles of hope and sunshine freely thrown about to pop up again. Where did Nature get her faith?
~ Water carried the V of silvery white wings with her into the day, their undersides lit by sun in the remarkably blue sky. She celebrated the palest lavender-blue iris with diaphanous ruffled petals as if she’d invented the color in her image. In fact, she had done just that ~
Excerpted from “Secret of Color“, “The Art of Being Water” and “Nature’s Community of Fools” drafts of the Earth Family Trust trilogy.
