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I went for a walk the other evening even though it was sunny and warm. An unsettled and blustering wind was blowing, the kind that ties your hair in knots. There were thunderstorm warnings for north of the city.

At one point, I stopped along the edge of the road and just closed my eyes. I spread my arms wide, letting the wind caress them. The leaves in the trees were being tossed and they sounded like a waterfall. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear wind chimes, the kind made of metal and coloured glass. And when I opened my eyes, apple blossom petals and maple keys were floating around me. It was magical.

I’m sure I looked silly to anyone who might have observed me, but I was seizing a moment, a moment that stayed with me for days afterward.

When I got home, the sun was bathing everything in gold. I wasn’t ready to go in so I sat along the edge of the garden. It was then I noticed the intricate textures and patterns on the iris. The velvety petals were covered in dust. Even though it was being battered by the wind and it looked like a delicate flower, it stood tall and resolute, with quiet dignity.

Purple Iris

“One’s dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but cannot be taken away unless it is surrendered.” – Michael J. Fox