Buttonhole Attitude

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Begonia

The begonia on my porch is showing her true colors this week. As each tiny bead of a bud pops itself open; it uncurls into a tiny pale pink bundle like a baby girls’s soft crochetted bootie found in the cradle’s end––a tiny soft wad. Then the sun beams on it and it unfolds and becomes a whirly swirl of deep pinkness. The center is splashed with white and the stamens support pollen heads of gold.

My younger brother used to choose a flower every morning to pin to his shirtfront or pull through his buttonhole. He hoped to garner smiles and start conversations. He loved to meet new people and chat with them. He hated television which he felt robbed people of the pleasures of friendship. He longed for the days when folks sat out on their porches and greeted passersby––neighbor, friend, or stranger with a wave, a bit of talk, a “Good day”, or a tip of the hat.

I dare say one of my begonia blooms would have made him happy.  His buttonhole flower habit helped him remember that life was good and that he should enjoy every hour and every day. It reminded him to be friendly wherever he went. We could all use a vase of buds or a blooming plant around to remind us that friendliness, like my begonia, is bright with promise.

 

I Love Light

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I Love Light

I love the way sun slants into my house through the front windows as the sun rises.

I love the way it falls across the books on the bookcases in my livingroom and how it drifts silently and sweetly across the designs on my bed quilt. I love how a breeze touches the curtains and makes the lights and shadows shiver and shimmer like the surface of a pond when the wind ripples the sky’s blue reflection.

I love light when it falls on a summer rose in a bud vase or over a bouquet full of blooms–– a mixture of bright colors and whites like these.

I love the shadows and lines of light that fall in around and through the blinds and sheers. The straight patterns beside the flowing, curving, and fluted ones give me delight.

Yes, “delight,” which sounds like “no light” or unlit, but instead says joy.

fullsizeoutput_7accChristmas Cactus

 By Elece Hollis

She’s called a cactus––but has no spines;

She speaks between her graceful lines.

She isn’t fir or coned´pine.

At Christmas time.

 

She isn’t Poinsettia bright

Not Amaryllis––that’s alright!

 She bows her head––shy––out of sight

At Christmas time.

 

She brightens up the room each year;

Comes to bring us all good cheer.

I count her blossoming quite dear

At Christmas time.

 

 

 

Cactus Blossom

fullsizeoutput_7accThe Color White

By Elece Hollis

Spring is yellow forsythia and daffodils, red of tulips, hyacinth purple, white crocus, lilies and all shades of bright.

Summer is every color under the sky-blue, it’s every shade of green, white clover, and red roses a picket fence.

Fall has crimson apples, sunflowers, leaves of orange, yellow, and Sweetgum purple, honeysuckle, and white of frost on the windows.

Winter is brown and gray, but holds white of the first falling snow, white of moon’s shine and sparkling stars.

White is a country church’s freshly painted steeple, white flesh of a river trout, of salt, of a lamb’s wool

White of new cotton socks, white of sifted bread flour, white of butterfly wings and angel robes in Christmas plays.

White is drifting clouds, white of pages between the lines, of coconut milk,  a polar bear fur, of egret’s feathers.

White of a bride’s gown, a porcelain sink, powdered sugar, whipped cream for pumpkin pie, white of wave crests and thundering waterfalls,

I love white. White is every color, every place, every season––every rhyme.

Blue is Not

In wonder-workings
 or some bush aflame,
Men look for God and fancy him concealed;
But in earth’s common things he stands revealed 
While grass and flowers and stars
 spell out his name.
Minot Judson Savage

 

 
Blue is Not
By Elece Hollis
 
Blue is not a flower color normally.
Blue is the ocean on a still shore. 
Reflecting the sky of a summer day.
Blue is the vase in the windowsill
In Grandma’s kitchen, reserved for violets
Dandelions and other special bouquets.
Blue is berries in a white bowl, 
Sparkled with sugar and peeping from a swirl of cream.
Blue is the color of robin eggs waiting in a nest.
Blue is a newborn baby’s eyes.
Blue is hydrangea.