Fleur-de-Lis

A border, a lining, a lattice-work screen of a knotting of flowers. A frontispiece, an introduction, the frame around a portrait, a pleasant decor. Drifting through a state of meandering contemplation in an enclosed garden. A turn of the page, and a brief trespassing scent of rosemary. Beyond these grounds lie the fallowed fields, silent for a millenia. Here, along forgotten paths, scythes rot in the shade, while flowers curl up along their souring blades, producing the most delicate and ephemeral of tapestries.