Westport Writers' Workshop

Register Now: (203) 227-3250 or email: info@westportwriters.org
  • Home
  • About Us
    • Frequently Asked Questions
    • Board of Directors
  • Faculty
  • Policies
  • Support Us
    • Founding Donors
    • Annual Fund
  • Creative Writing Workshops
    • Zoom Winter 2020 Workshops
    • Winter 2020 Creative Writing Workshops
    • Fall 2019 Creative Writing Workshops
    • Workshops by Day
      • Monday Workshops
      • Tuesday Workshops
      • Wednesday Workshops
      • Thursday Workshops
      • Friday Workshops
      • Saturday Workshops
      • One-time Workshops
    • Workshops by Genre
      • Fiction Workshops
      • Fiction and Non-Fiction Workshops
      • Memoir Workshops
      • Playwriting Workshops
      • Poetry Workshops
      • Screenwriting Workshops
      • Thriller and Mystery Workshops
      • Writing Children’s Literature Workshops
  • Zoom Workshops
  • Calendar
  • Special Events
  • Editing & Coaching
  • Scholarships
  • Blog

November Iris by Linda Gibson

with Maureen Judge

When I rounded the bend in the cul-de-sac in front of my house, I stopped dead in my tracks to stare at the most beautiful of blooms, an iris, planted in our community garden by my neighbor, a variety in Connecticut that always produces its clusters of flowers in early June, hearty and elegant with the graceful curves and colorations of its petals.

But this was November, nearly five full months past its days for blooming.

On one side just under a petal, another fully developed bud was in waiting with a second further down the stem. The shock for someone like me who has been observing the blossoming of these flowers for over seventy years—though never in November—felt like a blow, its presence at this time of year more alarming than welcome, more a statement about the warming of the planet than a gift from nature, stunning as it was.

Nevertheless as a 21st century senior, I took out my cell and snapped pictures of this anomaly, from all sides, attempting to include the yellowing of the maple and the dogwood in the background. The rock sitting behind the bloom in the photo I’ve posted, reminds me of a tombstone, hinting at the vulnerability of all that is organic and pulsing with life, giving and taking from the atmosphere that surrounds our planet, the cover that makes our beautiful earth the only one of its kind in our universe.

How did we get to this place? How can I look my children and grandchildren in the eye, having been part of a generation that has knowingly supported a way of life that robs the planet of its resources, never to be replenished, a well-documented condition in the USA since the 1960s? Better yet, how can I impress them with the desperate need for all of us to change our ways, to support the plans for global amends and restoration? That’s the message I’ll take from the November Iris, a plant that can only communicate by doing what it does best.

Share

Filed Under: Blog

Check out our new Zoom online Saturday Winter workshops

Check out our new editing and coaching offerings

Join our email list to receive
future workshop dates
and other announcements:




Like Us on Facebook

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • RSS
  • Twitter

Copyright © 2019 Westport Writers' Workshop Inc., a 501(c)(3) organization - 3 Sylvan Road South, Westport, CT 06880 • T: (203) 227-3250