As children, well more accurately as a child, I remember being taken by the Scottish name for Irises. We call them Flags. It seemed like a very good name for a flower rather than the usual impossible to remember flower nomenclature, such as antirrhinum.
So, on Okinawa, where I live, there are fields and fields of Flags. I spent a semi mystical afternoon amongst them surrounded by gently smoking green jungly hills.
Who wants flowers when youre dead? Nobody.
Since Iris is the Greek goddess for the Messenger of Love, her sacred flower is considered the symbol of communication and messages. Greek men would often plant an iris on the graves of their beloved women as a tribute to the goddess Iris, whose duty it was to take the souls of women to the Elysian fields. Who would have guessed?
These my sky-robes spun out of Iris woof.
Cool scarecrow made from a buoy.
It is a very beautiful place with acres of flowers. They are a little bedraggled today following the storm this morning. I buy some to put in my office, which is being transformed as I write.
Office decoration. I will probably remove the paper.
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