5/24/09: two years, and the iris bloom yet again
As I left Saturday morning for the drive to Crown Tourney, the first white iris had begun to slump. Several dark purple heads had opened, standing tall toward the back of the garden--not the ones that droop out over the drive--and the pink-grapefruit flowers were still tightly wrapped buds.
Many small things these past few days have caught my heart and mind with fleeting memory. Most have been the sort to bring a smile or laugh or a fond shake of the head, a few even prompting a joking comment. Random access, random thoughts, random memory. Random life.
I have this tacked up near my desk at work. It's from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "Sonnets from the Portuguese"; while she is speaking of physical separation within this life, I find it speaks to me as well.
VI.
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forebore-
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
More on Crown Tourney--fighting, feast, motel, impromptu chatelaine-ing, and general observations--after I get home.