“I shan’t come!” he shouted back to Virginia. “I’m planting iris and they will be flowering long after he is dead.’” He was right. In his memoir, Downhill All the Way, Leonard Woolf noted that twenty-one years after Hitler committed suicide in the bunker, a few of those purple flowers still bloomed in the orchard under the apple tree. I don’t know for sure what kinds of flowers I’m planting with my days on this planet, but I intend to find out, and so should you.
