Anyone who has studied Victorian times would know that each type of flower had an inherent meaning. I am not sure how long this tradition has continued, but one 18th century poet, Robert Burns (1759-1796) certainly had his trials with love, and yet, wrote a poem, “A Red, Red Rose.” The Scotsman wrote, in the first stanza:
Oh, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June.
Oh my luve is like the melodie,
That’s sweetly play’d in tune. …
Bonsai plant
My roses are not blooming yet, though they are busy putting on new leaves. However, a little bonsai plant, the gift of a thoughtful niece last Mother’s Day, has buds and has begun to bloom. The blossom almost looks like a miniature Hibiscus. I believe it is really an Azalea. Here is a photo. Isn’t it gorgeous?
Close-up view of blossom
We followed the directions that came with the plant that said to keep it in a cool place and water it very little during the winter. It seemed to like our closed-in, summer porch, and we could keep a good eye on it, coming and going out the back door.
This spring, it is loaded with blossoms, and as you see, the plant is now rewarding our vigilance with a blossom. Seeing this lovely plant come to life again and sprout new leaves is a reminder of love itself. If carefully nurtured, love endures. If neglected, love dies on the vine. It is a lesson for us all. We should listen to Nature more often!
Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications
