For Violette Noelle - Sprout

The Violet

Down in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;

Its stalk was bent,
it hung its head
As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colour bright and fair;

It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet thus it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused a sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.



Jane Taylor



My mommy and Daddy are donating blood today in honor of dear Sprout.

Many hugs and purrs of comfot to our friends today.

The Next Place

Our dear friend Monty Q's little bean sister, Violette affectionately known as Sprout died unexpectedly at 3 months old. We have no words, so we will borrow Warren Hanson's from his book, The Next Place.

The Next Place

The next place that I go
will be as peaceful and familiar
as a sleepy summer Sunday
and a sweet, untroubled mind.

And yet….it won’t be anything like any place I’ve ever been…
or seen…or dreamed of
in the place I leave behind.

I won’t know where I’m going,
and I won’t know where I’ve been
as I tumble through the always
and look back toward the when.

I’ll glide beyond the rainbows.
I’ll drift above the sky.
I’ll fly into the wonder,
without ever wondering why.

I won’t remember getting there.
Somehow I’ll just arrive.
But I’ll know that I belong there
and will feel much more alive
than I have ever felt before.
I will be absolutely free of the things that I held onto
that were holding onto me.

The next place that I go
will be so quiet and so still
that the whispered song of sweet belonging will rise up to fill
the listening sky with joyful silence, and with unheard harmonies
of music made by no one playing,
like a hush upon a breeze.

There will be no room for darkness in that place of living light.
Where an ever-dawning morning pushes back the dying night.
The very air will fill with brilliance, as the brightly shining sun
and the moon and half a million stars are married into one.

The next place that I go
Won’t really be a place at all.
There won’t be any seasons—winter, summer, spring or fall—
Nor a Monday,
Nor a Friday,
Nor December,
Nor July.
And the seconds will be standing still…
while the hours hurry by.

I will not be a boy
or girl,
a woman
or a man.
I’ll simply be just,
simply me.
No worse or better than.

My skin will not be dark or light.
I won’t be fat or tall.
The body I once lived in
won’t be part of me at all.

I will finally be perfect.
I will be without a flaw.
I will never make one more mistake,
or break the smallest law.

And the me that was impatient,
or was angry or unkind,
will simply be a memory.
The me I left behind.

I will travel empty-handed.
There is not one single thing
I have collected in my life
that I would ever want to bring
except….
The love of those who loved me,
and the warmth of those who cared.
The happiness and memories
and magic that we shared.

Though I will know the joy of solitude…
I’ll never be alone.
I’ll be embraced
by all the family and friends
I’ve ever known.
Although I might not see their faces,
all our hearts will beat as one,
and the circle of our spirits
Will shine brighter than the sun.

Rest In Peace Sweet Violette