Poinsettias

They hold a certain magic for me. I am unsure of much about their background, but I do know they are in the greenhouse that Frosty melts in before he comes back to life. I also know that my grandma seemed to always have one in the winter, a bright red beacon in the corner of the otherwise modest kitchen or living room. They reminded me of the way she'd sometimes color her lips: they'd become a bright red beacon, highlighting special occasions. A vibrant reminder of the wisdom and wit that regularly splashed from those lips, filling the house and those in it with joy.

It always gives flutter to my heart to pause and appreciate a thriving poinsettia in the cold and dark of winter. As I've gotten older, I've recognized that it takes special care to help something thrive. This idea certainly isn't limited to plants, but they are a nice reminder. Growing, living, breathing, thriving, shifting, fleeting.

My mom carried forth her mother's tradition of having a poinsettia around the house during Christmas time, cultivating her own brand of that quiet winter magic. She, too, looks great in red, and has her own sage ways and wisdoms.

Each time I see beautiful poinsettias in a display or someone's home, or when I line my own lips with a similarly vibrant red, my subconscious whispers to me these musings, and I am filled with a sense of ebullient wonder.