Every year when this flower blooms I am reminded my of Grandma Rabun.  She was probably the kindest most loving woman I have ever known.  She gave me these bulbs when I was very young and I have carried them with me everywhere I have lived.  I look forward to them bursting out of their tightly wrapped buds overflowing with textures and patterns and silky petals.  An iris's center - the perfect sneak peek to the coming orgasmic explosion waiting for just the right moment to erupt.  

I started gardening because of these flowers.  I had to have a place for them.  My grandmother did not have a lot when she left this earth other than her family and her flowers.  And with the planting of her bulbs in my new home as a youngly married princess to my prince charming came my love of the earth in a whole new way.  As I consider this it is funny to me now because everyone in my family always had a lovely vegetable patch and I spent most of my summer days in them..

but those..

those were vegetables. 

An Iris is a flower.. A stunning work of beauty that bursts out of the leaves on a single fragile stem for all to see, but they do not let us forget they are there quietly waiting all year with their triangular pointed leaves..


Iris's brought this rebellious soul back to the garden in the most subtle way - in the way only my Grandma Rabun could have taught me to do it.

And, so, with every Spring I wait.  I watch.  I tend the garden around the bulbs making sure we're all set for this growing season.  When my Grandma's beautiful irises arrive I make sure I turn my eyes to them daily until they are all done for another season and then, I get back to my vegetables.. (the way she would have wanted me to).

Grape Hyacinth

When we begin to see though the illusion we once took to be 'me', there is a simultaneous emergence of our true nature from the background, where it has been waiting patiently for us to sober up from the intoxication of seeking.

~ Bob O'Hearn


The push and pull of seasons keeps me on edge in a good way

which buds will survive the dance between winter and spring

keeping fingers crossed that tender seeds waiting to bust up and out of the earth hold tight just a little longer.

I continually find myself out there looking


The birds know what's up. 

Subscribe to the Listening To Silence Mailing List

* indicates required