Leah slips into her powder blue bathrobe. The sun is on the cusp of rising.
Slippered now, she steps out the front door to check on her irises.
Her eyes open wider. Her heart flies apart!
Are these irises hers? Or do they belong to her heavenly ancestors: Grandpa ANGELo and her dear father, Richard L. Ricci?
Awe gee, we are so lucky to have so many family members on EARTH. And so many ANGEL ANCESTORS IN HEAVEN.
This morning, the ancestors are sharing, big time, as
LEAH IS STARING AT SOMETHING SO BEAUTIFUL SHE CAN HARDLY TAKE IT IN!
The irises are crystalized. CRYSTALLINE PURPLE!
THE PETALS LOOK LIKE ICED PURPLE FLAMES.
She gasps. She holds her chest.
THE FLOWERS ARE AS FROZEN AS SHE WAS LAST FEBRUARY WHEN SHE STARTED TO WRITE THE BOOK,
HEAL LEAH LEAH HEAL
OR IS IT
LEAH HEAL HEAL LEAH?
the book has a title page, and it can be morphed. Endlessly.
That is the beauty of publishing the book on the blog. It is a fully fluid format.
AS FLUID AS SHE IS
WARM AS SHE IS
the heat of
Her husband opens the door. "It's below freezing honey. Aren't you cold? You've been out there for 40 minutes?"
SHE SMILES. Only 40?
HOW MANY MILLION MINUTES DO YOU NEED TO WITNESS AN IRIS MIRACLE?
She is FULLY WARMING BY INTERNAL PURPLE FLAMES.
"I'm watching the irises," she says, as if he doesn't know.
She keeps photographing them over and over again, in every pose imaginable.
Suddenly her sister in law Jo Kirsch calls. Leah is buying a Hindu "murti," a statue of the deity
SHIVA. And it was Jo who, two days ago, helped her figure out which one was her archetype.
She will give a fuller explanation in another chapter.
Meanwhile, this morning, which is Halloween, her irises have been blooming for nearly two weeks.
She's finished speaking. For now, she is resting in the wind of her heart.