The way of poppies

      It is the nature of poppies to be fleeting. Here for a few hours, day or two perhaps, then, gone.
For that reason I didn't used to like them. Wasteful, I thought. Now perhaps I'm wiser? Last year we allowed three poppies. This year, so far, I counted seventeen. When you see a miniature orange volcano pressing through the swelling green bud, it's about to burst.

                     Two days ago there were two, now there are five. The weather has been perfect for them, but still, they will not last long. So I go out to look at them several times a day to watch their blazing careers. They nest among the black iris - which is only called black. It is more a very dark purple.

 

Their petals are so delicate the slightest rain or windy weather carries them away.

     When the sun is directly on them, they are almost too bright to look at. But I do. I am filled with both joy and sadness. Our lives - on a stem.