On some freezing day in the very early spring, I was out in the front garden, throwing poppy seeds everywhere as quickly as I could before running back into the warmth of the house. Later in the spring, no poppies had seemed to germinated but one, which a tiny garden helper deemed a weed and promptly pulled up, much to Mama's dismay. I was sure I would have no poppies. Then, as spring was nearing its end, the rest of the little seedlings emerged. Now at the end of June they are in full bloom. The rocky edges of the garden where they still grow but do not thrive, the tiniest little blooms can be found, some even smaller than a dime!
Oh poppies. I have had a long-time obsession. A neighbor down the street from my childhood home always had (and still does have) beautiful orange poppies blooming along the side of their house every spring. While we were dating and engaged, Alan brought me flowers every single Tuesday. Among those bouquets were ones of paper and silk poppies, both of which I still have (and always will). I maintain such positive associations with those wiry stems and fleeting, papery petals. Anyways, I just popped in to share some of the beauty with you. I have much to do today, including a pile of clean laundry on the bed in the guest room of embarrassing proportions and in dire need of attention. I'll be back soon!