In the early morning, it tips its head back with valor. The Iris Sofrana peels back her feeble generous petals with drops and folds of lilac streaked canvas. Her elegant anatomy, stripped from the neck down, stands gracefully. Reaching skywards, ribbed with natural frill, raw with the colors of flower flesh white tiger stripes and purple veins, it curls towards the ground like tears and lifts up like laughter. Her petals cover her heart, the center of its being as if to contain some sacred secret that is gently holding at her bosom.
There are places that you remember, not particularly because they have a lavish décor but because there is something quite humane about them.
Candles flickering almost in slow motion casting shadows upon the walls, the music is playing as all eyes are set on the center of the room. You see her from a distance, moving with a seductive grace, a vision of pure beauty. Her body sways in unison with her glorious hips.
Have you ever stopped to stare at the trees?
How they lightly sway in the gentle breeze?
They withstand with such grace their consistent fate.