Eva Ivonne Olson - Writer's Page
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"Precious They Are"
was selected for profile in the Union Democrat
in December 2007
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The Mother Lode Area of California
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As a special Christmas feature, the Union Democrat asked for stories about special Christmas ornaments. The paper could only use parts of Eva's story in their article and, unfortunately, slightly mangled what they did use. "Dear friends" became "dead friends".
Writereva
Union Democrat Online
Tuolumne County CoC
Samples of My Writing
A Tribute to
My Father
Excerpt - "Precious They Are"
It isn’t that they are beautiful. Most are, but some certainly aren’t. Only a mother could love – and treasure – foil-covered paper cup bells or a glittered name scrawled on a glass ball. It isn’t that they are unique, or that they are made of so much more than craft supplies and hours of personal time. What makes them important to our family are the things that can’t be seen. The ornaments that adorn our tree are filled with memories – memories of dear friends and loved ones, Christmases past, and unforgettable times. Cherished, beloved and precious they are.
Published Works & Poems
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Name: Eva Ivonne Olson
Email: writereva@yahoo.com
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The raspy voice sings softly now
as day supplants the night.
Still here within this dark cocoon
his tunes fend off the light.
For only here does he exist
as though he had the right.

Out there his world has been misused,
will never be the same.
Life smashed beyond recovery
in here can fan the flame
against disaster given form –
Katrina was her name.

So one more drink, and one more song
to bring the past alive.
The glory of New Orleans days
in here he will revive.
Then at the end he’ll treasure it
to one more day survive.
           The Promise

The snow is drifting, sifting past my window.
Gentle wonders come to rest on drive and deck
melting now, but soon to freeze and lock me in.

Starless night swathed in veils of melancholy
closes down upon the world, encasing nature
in frigid blanket, woven tendrils of silent vapor.

Layered cast off vestments, spring’s fashion show passé,
mantel the slumbering earth, awaiting the awakening.
Warmth will come again, though bleak the wait may be.

For now, I hold the memory of soothing winds and rustling leaves
within my soul, harbingers of summer days that comfort me
with prophesy. The sifting, drifting snow is not forever.
By Eva Ivonne Olson
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as well as editing and proofreading services.
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