Renewal

It was the feathered purple of a blossoming iris, kissing the laden air with trembling lips. I was awakened by its fragrance, the newness of its ancient story, told yet again by a moistening earth in silvery birdsong. Sometimes, I have missed the turning from gelid and motionless to the softening sway that unerringly follows. I have been embittered— brittle and bare as a crooked branch, scraping a vacuous sky— but not this time. This time, the tenderest breeze, prodded by the fingers of a spreading sun, finds me waiting— eyes closed, smile turned eagerly upwards to greet the renewal of creation.