Iris Notebook
by Dreaming Of The Moon And Listening To The Wind
About This Novel
From the six-year-old rain lane to the Paris show, iris bridges fifteen years. The blue-purple petals under her brush hide the smell of rust in his palms, and the growth rings of the old sycamore tree are carved into the mortise and tenon joints of his architectural model. The unspoken love is the date on the specimen bag, the sleeping face in the sketchbook, and the small gold letters on the adult ceremony lamp. When the frost and snow of reality fall on your shoulders, the iris buried in time finally blooms on the bank of the Seine - it turns out that every petal you hide is the unspeakable "I am". Green plums serve as introductions and years serve as brews. This is a confession of first encounter that takes half a lifetime to fulfill.
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