Purple Ink of the Iris

Dark purple iris has opened in my own yard, yellow next door, and lavender lush and tumbling all over the neighborhood.  Even the irises my mother gave me last year, transplanted from her yard and not expected to bloom this first year, are about to open.

Two of my tall regal stems were nearly flat to the ground on Sunday after a strong wind, so I clipped them and brought them inside.  This morning I found them dripping dark purple ink on the table tops.

I've been working on a script built from Civil War letters and just yesterday sent the latest draft to the director with a section of text changed to purple, as for "purple prose." It is the true patriotic sentiment of the times but drips purple in its rhetoric. I think it can be cut!--leaving just streaks of purple here and there.

Above is the "Mary Todd" iris!

Did you know gin can be flavored with iris?

As Johnny Carson used to say, "I did not know that." Now I do.

One of my favorite books of poetry ever is The Wild Iris, by Louise Gluck.

One of my favorite artists ever is Vincent van Gogh, who famously painted irises.

And a heartbreaking film, about a philosopher and  author, is Iris.

And today, a day in which I woke to the radio saying, "It's 61 at 6:01," a day full of the purple ink of the iris, is both a Fat Tuesday and a Random Coinciday in the blog.  Have a good one, full of beauty, joy, and random coincidii.