I started to make our Christmas cards when I couldn’t find a card to translate our hearts when our David was diagnosed with cancer. Many of our friends over the years have kept the cards I have made. It warms my heart to hear them called the Veronica Files. My efforts in artwork have always been primitive, but my poetry has been a Given when I knew not what Given was and I scribed. Our memories, both painful and joyous create who we are. I will share what I can find in the boxes of efforts I could not part with. I awakened this morning with The Rose In December and thought it a fine beginning but could find only one card with artwork. Still primitive but I hope my work will have meaning.
The Rose In December. . .
The first frost of winter
has caught the bud unaware.
But lo, the edges
are burned at the fringes,
closed tight and full.
The rose will bloom again
in December, I promise.
Look to the bush along the fence,
its roots buried, frozen.
The upright branch will sponsor
the blooming rose.
You will pluck it and know
I do not make light promises.
3 responses to “The Rose In December. . .”
You poem filled me with warmth Veronica. You have so much belief and hope and reality all together. It’s inspiring. And I love your drawings on paper and fabric. The honesty and confidence comes through.
Maria, I see and hear in my head what I need to execute. In my head I see the art but alas, my hands cannot perform the image. I take comfort in that we strive to perfect. Thank you for commenting. Veronica
email from Jane E. . . . .
More than usual, your Rose in December
resonated with me, reminding me that I did indeed keep many of your cards and pieces of correspondence from the time we met some 30 years ago – and lost those special memories in the wildfire. While I can no longer pull them out, I can remember how they made me feel – and think. Thank you.
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