On my mother's hill there are many camellias
In her later life, my mother lived in a cottage on a hill. It adjoined my older brother's property, and he was the planter of the camellias. It suited Mama: to be surrounded by these cool and lovely flowers of so many varieties, to walk among them with her stick for balancing, to peer into their delicate and layered centers, occasionally to pick one...or a few...to place in a Shearwater vase for beauty's sake.
Mama has been gone since August of 1991, but the camellias planted by her beloved son continue sturdily to bloom. I think of them as winter roses, though they have no scent. To have their lush and lovely beauty through the winter month's is heartening. To have them blooming yet on my mother's hill is a comfort.
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