Wild Moon Creations CT

The viola is one of those flowers that looks soft, delicate, almost shy, yet its symbolism runs deep.

In flower language, violas are often tied to remembrance, devotion, modesty, and faithful love. They are not the loud flower of obsession or conquest. They are the small bloom left behind, the quiet promise, the feeling that remains after someone has gone.

Their close relatives, violets and pansies, carry a long history in folklore and myth. Violets were sacred to love and mourning in the ancient world. They appear around graves, in spring rites, in love charms, and in stories where beauty grows out of sorrow. The pansy, whose name comes from the French pensée, meaning “thought,” became a flower of memory, reflection, and thinking of someone from afar.

This makes the viola a powerful symbol for the hidden heart.

Not the love that demands to be seen.

The love that waits.

The love that remembers.

The love that survives in silence.

In folklore, small purple flowers were often seen as liminal things, growing close to the earth, appearing in spring, blooming between cold and warmth, between death and renewal. They belonged to thresholds, to hidden places, to the soft return of life after darkness.

There is something deeply witchlike about the viola. It does not dominate the garden. It watches from the edges. It carries colour like a secret. It reminds us that not all magic arrives as fire, storm, or spectacle. Some magic comes as a tiny flower growing where no one expected beauty to survive.

The viola is the flower of quiet devotion, old memory, gentle grief, secret love, and emotional resilience.

It says:
I remember.
I remain.
I bloom softly, even after winter.

I am here…always a work in progress. And that’s ok

Across folklore, the hare has always carried a strange kind of magic. It appears soft, quick, watchful, and fragile, yet old stories rarely treated it as harmless.

The hare belonged to the liminal places. Fields at dusk. Hedgerows. Moonlit paths. Grave edges. Open land where the human world thins into something older. It moved fast, vanished suddenly, and seemed to know when it was being watched.

This is why hares became deeply tied to witchcraft.

In European folklore, witches were sometimes believed to shape-shift into hares, slipping through fields under moonlight, escaping hunters, crossing boundaries no ordinary person could cross. A hare seen at the wrong hour was not always read as an animal. Sometimes it was a woman in another form. Sometimes it was an omen. Sometimes it was magic moving low through the grass.

The hare was also bound to fertility. Its speed, breeding, springtime presence, and connection to new life made it a creature of abundance, sexuality, renewal, and the returning earth. Yet fertility was never only gentle in old magic. It was powerful, chaotic, bodily, and difficult to control.

Then there is the moon.

Many traditions saw the hare in the moon’s markings, turning the animal into a lunar being of cycles, madness, intuition, feminine mystery, and night vision. The moon changes shape and still returns whole. The hare disappears and returns the same way.

That is why the hare feels enchanted.

It carries contradiction. It is prey and trickster. Fertility and fear. Softness and survival. Moonlight and madness. A creature of spring, yet also a creature of shadow.

To see a hare in folklore was to see a message from the old world.

Something is moving beneath the surface.

Something fertile, wild, hidden, and impossible to hold.