Winter flowers are small and hardy.
They lack the ostentation of summer blooms.
They are quiet, they do no insist upon themselves.
They are as they are, blooming in defiance of the cold and the dark.
I often feel like those flowers.
I have wreathed my aunt's face in those small, resilient, flowers.
We shall not succumb to the cold of winter.
We will bloom in defiance.
We will bloom in love.
We will bloom in remembrance.
We will bloom.