"And I think the violets are little snips of the sky that fell down when the angels cut out holes for the stars to shine through."~A Pupil to Anne in Anne of Avonlea by L.M. Montgomery
Violets grow abundantly in my neighborhood in spring. The coming of the violets is a sure way to know that winter has been replaced by spring. They are such sweet, old-fashioned flowers! I don't actually have very many growing in my own small yard, but some yards are full of them, so full that I don't think their owners miss the few handfuls that I "borrow" to take home. I forbid the boy who mows our lawn to mow down the violets; he must go around them even if it means having odd patches of long grass here and there. I can't bear the thought of my violets being murdered! They are allowed to go to seed, and each year we have a few more. I will never understand people who wipe out their entire violet populations with herbicides or lawnmowers. When I see a lawn that has been massacred of its violets, I mutter imprecations on the owners. A pox upon the houses of all violet murderers!
These are on my windowsill in a 50-cent garage sale vase I bought when Girl Out of the House was a baby. It has been used in all its chipped glory for over twenty years to hold bouquets of dandelions and clover, violets and pansies, wild phlox and shepherd's purse. How I miss bouquets picked by chubby fingers accompanied by little voices exclaiming, "Here, Mommy! These are for you!"
(Please visit Like Mother, Like Daughter for other entries in their "Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real" link-up. Today is the premiere of this new weekly feature. Should be fun!)