A quiet remind to so many things.
To how a prayer journey began one May afternoon - to how things change, quietly, elusively, when we're not watching.
To the way a heart was moved to pray...
How it's still moved, and how it still cries quietly while looking at the vast skies.
To me, the iris is a sad flower, but a flower that shows hope in its deep veins - that, though it dies for a season, it always comes back. It means "paint brush flower" - it paints stories that we don't listen to... elusively, while we're not looking.
It is a love - a love for an iris.
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