“Each person has a poem to write, a book to share, a revelation to bring out in the open. Each of us has a winsome idea to think about and a compelling story to tell. Ibalonian Ona Vigil has beautiful musings which spring forth like sparkling dewdrops in the recesses of her mind. Like the rounded pregnant bead of water ready to drop from a flower, her fluid reflections bring something persuasively personal and dear.” —AFM
by Ona Vigil
They grew up not giving me gifts, I mean material gifts. A kiss, a hug, a greeting, a personally made holiday card—they understood these were enough to make me happy. The thoughtfulness meant more than anything for their Mom— they knew.
Last Christmas, I received something special: a framed photo of my three children. Innocent smiles, beautiful faces, a picture almost two decades old, a survivor of harsh days, flash floods and thunderbolts, blown-up to fit a 10 x 12 inch frame. It had been by my favorite picture. Once again, I received a gift…with feeling.
Just as usual, I woke up early the day after Christmas (comes with ageing, teases a friend). I felt like everyone else—-my children and the neighbors were still asleep as soft rain languidly fell from the overcast sky. The day was gloomy. The sun wouldn’t come out. I wish I could see a rainbow!
I sat on my favorite nook outside thinking what the morning would bring. And voila! There I saw the dazzling prism of colors arching against the clouds racing about the tall trees. Was it a rainbow?
ROY G BIV. Is it a queer-sounding name? No. That’s how I learned to memorize the various colors when I was in grade school. I recalled my neighbor’s fiery poinsettia and the rows of santan flowers, all brimming RED. My potted bougainvilleas were lovely in full-bloom. Their sharp flowers dotted the wide garden, just like the prolific YELLOW bells which blended with the sprouts of sedges under the bush. The hurried flowers drew the busy butterflies in frenzied flight with the wind while the bee buzzed along.
Against the BLUE roof of a house nearby. I watched the tiny luxuriant VIOLET blooms whose sweet scent filled the air. Though the GREEN leaves were a-plenty and the trees were noisy with the breeze, I wondered where the color of INDIGO I could find. From the depths of my senses, a voice whispered a line from a poem: “Close your eyes to see it!” I did. ROY G. BIV. Suddenly there, I saw my rainbow. (Photo Credit: Annalee&BS)=0=