In the last years of his life, my father and I spent many hours together
working on this hillside. When he died, the mountain irises were out in abundance,
arrayed in all their lavender glory.
Now, every year as we edge toward summer, they appear in their simple and unpretentious elegance,
a fitting memorial to a gentle and unpretentious man.
Much better than a gravestone, I think;
this hillside, more beautiful than any cemetery.
[First posted: June 30, 2014]
