P24 Viola

Daily Note

Every day, a photograph, a poem. I still have no johnny-jump-ups or violas in the yard. I look every day. But it’s been 39° F for days– still a bit cool although these little, delicate flowers do like the cool weather of spring. What if climate change has killed them? Oh, would that be sad? So sad.

My aunt’s name was Viola. She was my godmother, and so blessed me with many conversations and presents as I grew up, helping with things my parents could not afford, like a new spring dress. She also is the aunt who rented a lake cabin for the McIntosh families each summer where all the adult siblings could come together and the cousins could spend hours in the water– and, at some of the places, salting leeches off. Ick. And we played card games every night in the tents the kids slept in while the parents got ready for fishing the next day and played their card games until late. So many memories of cousins I’ve lost track of over the years.

I do know all my Edwards cousins though, still, and the many memories with them– playing hide n seek and hours more of cards and sneaking Aunt Vera’s fudge.

So the little viola flower means so much to me– and these days, since winter was so grey, I keep hoping they will pop up.

Poetry

Viola

Violas pop up in the cool of spring
a first flower with crocus and snow drops
little blossoms of color they bring
the joy of warmth and sun
the hope that growth begins
with nature’s garden for everyone.
Sheri Edwards
03.06.24 066.365.24
Poetry/Photography