Bearded iris were among the first flowers I loved as a child. I waited for them each Spring. Magic.
I still think dirt & sun & rain & birds & wind & chance are magical dining partners.
Imagine a bowl of ruffled iris. Who to invite?
And the words which form conversations.
And the words which form poems.
Some ruffled. Some plain. Magic!
Magic is rooted & plated. Magic abounds.