Missing Iris

Patches of vivid, fluffy flowers were scattered across the hill, black-eyed susans, white daylilies, purple daisies, orange zinnas and in the mist of the heaven, my eyes fell upon a hidden treasure. She was sleeping peacefully—as a kitten snuggled in cotton blankets. Her hands rested on her chest, black hair curled around her face, fair-skinned as she was. I hesitated to move from my spot, taken aback by what I was gazing at. Before her eyes were to flutter open, I retreated back down.

…

The next day I wandered up the hill, tracking through the flowers. I hoped to see her again, if only for a short while. My wish was granted when I reached the top of the hill: there she laid, sleeping. As my gaze fixed on her, novel feelings washed over me. What was once awe; new amusement turned to longing.

I wished to be with this dormant princess, to grow my love, and to have love returned in blissful reciprocity. These thoughts raced, parallel to knowing she was a stranger. How could I ever enter her world? Lacking resolve or idea, I retraced my steps down, mindful of the flowers.

The following days parted in a blur. I didn't visit the hill: an act of avoidance. Days turned to months, pushing aside any thought of the hill, its flowers, and she--the beauty on it.

Snowflakes drifted from the gray sky, padding the ground in pure white. In a daze my feet seemed to move on there on. I was drawn once again to the hill and awaiting me was a delight I had long since put away: Her.

Laying on the snow, hair askew--those darling black splashes contrasted brilliantly to the layers of white. I halted, despite desire: motionless. Was it the cold or the warmth that froze me?

Her eyes fluttered open to my heart’s racy angst. She slowly rose, patting flakes of white off of her. Her eyes met mine, two precious chocolate orbs of warmth and allure. She stared silently, assessing me, reaching reality. I remained still, with the full ache of my heart. The wash of sentiments once tied to her unleashed once more, and I made no attempt to stop it this time. I held her stare and made patience.

She assembled her thoughts and spoke with tender voice, reaching my depths: "I remember you!" And through darling smile, added, "I always saw you at the bottom of my hill. I am Iris." The confines of her words didn’t relay a love, nor make promise of it, but an extension of friendship.

Silence deigned response: "I. uh. It's nice to meet," I ended awkwardly. Tilting her head slightly to the side, curls falling into her eyes and a perplexed look formed. "What's your name?" she inquired brightly. "Oh! It is. It is… Yes." I replied, uncertain of myself. All manner of thoughts attacked my already dwindled confidence. I blushed profusely, no doubt. Iris continued, offering little reaction; “Let’s play!”

It was certainly an impossibility to refuse her.

Trudging vigorously through the white, we took opposite stands on her hill, hurling hastily formed globs of snow at each other. I found it difficult to enjoy myself at first, movements stiff to cold and clung worries. Iris’ laughter saw swift end to my unease; I loosened. Huddling into a small shelter we made of piled snow, we bantered far past when sun left us.

…

Tomorrow didn't come soon enough.

I was beaming to see Iris, beautiful Iris. Her innocent countenance and crystalline eyes permeated my mind. My feet couldn’t climb her hill nearly as fast as I wanted to see her.

When I reached the top, my sights adjusted to someone new. A lady. But not my Iris. She had a familiar look about her, with straight black hair and fair skin. Our eyes met, and she spoke softly, "You’re … Correct?"

My heart sank; I knew something wasn't right. Stepping further across, digging my feet in the snow, I nodded. My voice was iced silent, unable to give her any further answer. I waited in anxious contemplation. The girl briskly procured a sealed black envelope. She nudged it my way and mumbled, "I'm sorry." She turned, pacing a short distance to melt away into the snow.

I shakily opened the black envelope, unable to make sense of the words at first. Reclaiming my composure several times, I managed to follow what she wrote. My heart gradually plunged into an abyss--a process furthered by the word.

I know we only met once, but: thank you. Our time together in the snow was the most joyful thing ever! Sadly, I have to let you know this—I won't be coming back to my hill ever again. This is good-bye; by the time you read this, my time here will be up. -Iris

I couldn't wrap my mind around her words. I dropped the letter in the snow and departed back down the hill in utter despair, completely torn.

I avoided the hill afterwards; I avoided my feelings; I avoided thinking of her. Time pressed on, and a full year went by. Spring rose out of the cracks of Winter. Fluffy flowers sprouted and the renewed breeze gently animated them.

Black-eyed susans, white daylilies, purple daisies, orange zinnas all that was missing was Iris.