They are so much like feathers — purple feathers — the tightly furled iris petals that line the walks on my route to work. It seems to take me forever to get where I'm going on account of the necessity of stopping to inhale the sugarsweet scents. Some are delicately sweet, like faded candy, while others are so deeply, so sweetly rich they seem almost to drip iris-honey at my feet. And to correct: not all purple, but varying degrees of purple, and rusts and golds, and sometimes white, with upright yellow stamens.
The blossom in the photos has slipped, slimy, into the shot glass — diminished! — and now the water which sustained its unfurling has taken on the purple coloring.
I am in love with the world, right here, right now.