Last Friday I saw the first iris – small, white, delicate. (Have they withstood these last days of slashing rain/wind?) Harbinger of wildflowers. Next to me, one recorded them digitally. Pen, is my preferred vehicle of remembrance.
A cook sees; the meal ensues.
There’s that bond between poet and poem, too. And the audience with a myriad of lenses?
This post is for the poet, irisblue.