A perfect picture of a violet has been stored away in my blog file since May waiting patiently for his opportunity to shine. This poem from Mary O’Neill’s book Hailstones and Halibut Bones ends with a delightful line about violets. But sharing the poem requires asters. The wait is over. Asters are everywhere--on roadsides, in the middle of the woods, in gardens, and in bridal bouquets. So here is the poem and the pretty, purple flowers that bookend our Summers.
What Is Purple?
by Mary O’Neill
Time is purple just before night
when most people turn on the light---
but if you don't it's a beautiful sight.
Asters are purple, there's purple in ink.
Purple's more popular than you think...
it's sort of a Great Grandmother to pink.
There are purple shadows and purple veils,
some ladies purple their fingernails.
There's purple jam and purple jell
and a purple bruise next day will tell
where you landed when you fell.
There purple feeling is rather put-out
the purple look is a definite pout.
But the purple sound is the loveliest thing
It's a violet opening in the Spring.
by Mary O’Neill
Time is purple just before night
when most people turn on the light---
but if you don't it's a beautiful sight.
Asters are purple, there's purple in ink.
Purple's more popular than you think...
it's sort of a Great Grandmother to pink.
There are purple shadows and purple veils,
some ladies purple their fingernails.
There's purple jam and purple jell
and a purple bruise next day will tell
where you landed when you fell.
There purple feeling is rather put-out
the purple look is a definite pout.
But the purple sound is the loveliest thing
It's a violet opening in the Spring.
Asters from Elise Kendall's garden. Violet from Jane Verdrager's garden.
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