Violets - to die for

note: I believe flowers were destined for my medicine carpetbag, as hinted at by the following poem
written in my teens – I doubt I recognized it at the time, but the poem speaks of sacrifice and sacrament,
of how the former fuels the latter in the quest of practicing one’s medicine. -NHT

V I O L E T S

in the crisp of a cool spring early morning

warmed slightly by free-flying sunrays,

i walked among my Grandmother’s yard of trees

(my shawl tight to shun the chilling breeze),

setting my wandering, slow paced feet

on pillow after pillow of dark moss velvet greens --

when at once spring equinox officially arrived

in a purple patch of violets,

spied nestled in the insulation of last fallen leaves,

yet rising up from the fresh moist earth.

And i, in pleasant rumination,