It doesn't rain here anymore,
so my fantasy of a spring rainstorm will have to do.
Like hopeful harbingers, violets come up and bloom anyway.
The dry heat intensifies their sweet scent.
My grandmother loved violets;
I can hear her saying,
"Don't give up."
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5 comments:
My mother loved violets too. I remember picking bunches of them for her when I was little and she would put them in a jelly jar glass. Thanks for the memories, Sam!
She was right--don't give up.
Violets must remind many people of their Grandmothers? Mine had a green thumb and she loved african violets...I never see one without thinking of her. I like this imagery. Solid.
Great color.
In Toulouse, I ate a chocolate bar made with candied violets. I thought it tasted like soap.
this is spring-loveloveloveit
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