A white flower flaps in the grass, half-opened and filling with wind like a tiny balloon. I bend down to see a small cluster around it, not yet opened. When they start to unfurl, a circle of fluttering, snowy parachutes forms on the edge of the bank, on the brink of the water.
Below them, the sheen of the mud stretches out in the stillness of low tide – it seems encrusted with light, as though frozen over. There is a hint of lilac, of blue, in the mud’s surface that is echoed in the flowers. Turning back, I trace the six albescent petals and long narrow leaves of Ipheion, the spring starflower.
