Ionine.

I was delighted to read this article about violets, because I think it speaks to the essence of my own Violet very well:

There are plenty of scents that we become accustomed to over time. We smell a perfume that gets spritzed on us intensely for the first five minutes or so, less so over the next hour, and finally we tune it out like we would any constant stimulus — the feel of our clothes against our bodies, the exact shade of artificial lighting at work. Violets are something else. They can't be entirely tuned out.

It goes on to explain how violets get their scent from ionine, which stimulates, then binds to our scent receptors and temporarily shuts them off completely. After a few breaths, you'll be able to catch the scent again, rather than becoming immune to it, as it is.

That's Violet, she of such sweetness that lingers. She goes quiet, retreats into herself for a time, but before long you'll hear her flitting through the house, or see that smile that lights her eyes, or catch the light bouncing from one of her many bracelets. And there she is again, all sweetness, tugging at your sleeve, crinkling her eyes, announcing, "I wuvs you, Mama," before pattering off again.

Invisible but for its wake.

Sometimes the world just seems so disgusting, so deep and dark. I think if I see anymore Florida zombie headlines or even a glance of that surveillance video screen shot, with the naked limbs peeking out from under the overpass, I will curl up into myself and weep.

To that end, I am grateful today for the loveliness of the book I'm reading. This quote seemed apt:

Survival often depends on a specific focus: a relationship, a belief, or a hope balanced on the edge of possibility. Or something more ephemeral: the way the sun passes through the hard, seemingly impenetrable glass of a window and warms the blanket, or how the wind, invisible but for its wake, is so loud one can hear it through the insulated walls of the house.

And the author includes the following quote from Rainer Maria Rilke:

Try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now.

Nightmare

The monsters unfold in more sinister versions. They have specific shape and face and name, and they come at me directly instead of lurking in shadows. Unspeakable Things happen; the innocent are contorted and broken and I am tasked with stopping it. But to stop it, I must observe and then do Unspeakable Things to the monsters in order to vanquish them and the darkness presses and the tears threaten and my eyes don't want to see but they see they see they keep seeing.

Until with a start my eyes are open in the darkness of my room because Madeleine has pushed the door open to crawl into bed, snug between me and her dad. She sits and waits without saying a word for me to lay my arm out so she can lay on top of it, and I can pull her in close and we snuggle. She's my sweetheart, my light, she's keeping the monsters at bay just now, thankfully.