amongst the wild fragrant violets

Violets used to grow in an unexpected tangle of small beauty outside an old church I know. They aren't there now - or perhaps they are, and I just haven't looked.

All my own violet shrubs have withdrawn to sleep away the sun and replenish themselves through winter for the spring far away to come. But there are more places than a garden to keep flowers.

I believed that I wanted to be a poet,
but deep down I just wanted to be a poem.

Jaime Gil de Bieda

There is a pale-golden strand that hems an island I know. Well yes, the whole island is hemmed with gold, and rocks, and gold. But this particular beach carries somewhere in its sea-lushed depths two sets of footprints - mine, my nana's. They were made back in the day when she would drive here or there for her morning walk, rather just merely rounding the neighbourhood, and she still smelled of oriental perfume, clean dishes, and long, sun-ripened beans from her half-hearted garden. The footprints have not gone, only eased into the layers of what-was on the beach. Same as that day, that memory, the women we once were, remain within the layers of who we are today.

Do you think amethysts
can be the souls of good violets?

LM Montgomery

I need to rest a while in the drift of random thoughts that are like wildflowers and sudden showers. I need to find, remember, wish, lovely things, and share them back to the world where, after all, I got them in the first place. Things like poetry and watercolours and links to admirable places. Between the woods and the waters, there are countless kingdoms of beauty.


  1. Such a delicious post, on this delicious spring dawn. Here, the shy violets will soon re - emerge in tufted islands from the new damp grass, and shall pick a posey for you, in thanksgiving.

  2. Lovely. The arrival of spring and wildflowers has inspired me to get out my watercolours again. The roadside verges are covered in celandines here at the moment... blankets of shiny yellow.