When I lived on the farm in Oregon I loved how the iris would grow along the roads in the spring. Then one day I went for a walk in the forest covering the foothills behind the farm. Dark and deep, the tall trees let in little light.
I came to a clearing, the sun streaming down on a carpet of purple iris. They covered the sunlit space. Those sparse iris by the road were what was left as roads and field covered the wild ground.
