“We do not know the full story, we do not know where we are in the story…”
Early of an evening, Maureen let me cut iris and the spent heads of allium globes – as beautiful in their constellation of seed pods as they are in their starry purple flowers.
“Stay for dinner,” she said, “Max is making stir fry.”
And just like that, life returned to itself from a bad dream. Except we know that terrible distortion of our world was true. And exactly what has happened, we will be learning for a long time to come.
To sit around the table – together – together. To tell each other how we are – and to see with our own eyes the toothy laughs we shared over pea pods and chicken and white wine and cherries. I can hardly believe the miracle of it. And the wonder of irises opening still.