In Victorian times, the violet stood for faithfulness. These little beauties pop up in our lawn each spring, faithful harbingers of the season.
I remember picking them as a child, and bringing them inside as a gift for my mother. I still love them inordinately -- the way they appear almost overnight, with their heart-shaped leaves and delicate nodding blossoms, the way they remain shyly closed till the sun coaxes them to open their faces.
Some people count them as weeds. Google "wild violets" and you will find countless articles on how to eradicate them from your lawn. I can't imagine our lawn without them. And how beautiful do they look among the morning dew drops?
| "O wind, where have you been, That you blow so sweet? Among the violets Which blossom at your feet. The honeysuckle waits From Sing Song, a Nursery Rhyme Book (before 1873) |