The sun does not shine for a few trees, and flowers, but for the wide world's joy. The lonely pine on the mountain-top waves its sombre boughs and cries, 'Thou art my sun.' And the little meadow violet lifts its cup of blue, and whispers with its perfumed breath, 'Thou art my sun.' And the grain in a housand fields rustles in the wind, and makes answer, 'Thou art my sun.' So God sits effulgent in heaven, not for a favoured few, but for the universe of life; and there is no creature so poor or so low that he may not look up with childish confidence and say, 'My Father, Thou art mine.' ~Henry Ward Beecher
It is almost my sweet niece's first birthday. I'm made aware by the appearance of sweet violets in my winter garden, even though it is not the same garden as I enjoyed when she was born. Last year my awareness of the violets in our garden came on the day she was born. It was such as precious time.
This year I am enjoying a new winter garden - my own. I do love the garden in winter.
It is a time of rest as we shelter indoors while the plants take a rest from their rigorous growth.
It is a time of last farewells as we say goodbye to summer blooms such as this rose blossom which was mostly hidden by the weeping cherry during summer.
It is time of anticipation as we wait for the budding blossoms to burst forth and reveal their delightful colours and fragrance.
Waiting for your first birthday little Eleanor...