Beyond the gate there is the most unassuming patch of orange poppies. It waits for me each time I go running, walking, biking, musing. It sits right out front of a white picket fence which sits right out front of a pale yellow house and my god, it is the loveliest sight. I wave hello to them when I walk past. I wave goodbye to them when I walk home. They have never done anything but smile.
Smile brightly, orange and kind.
They have spoken to me in my melancholy, in my jubilation, in my pain. I have found a home amongst those wondrous sunset poppies near the yellow house.
Yesterday, when I greeted them, I noticed something beautifully new. There grew an orange flower right across the street from the tiny meadow. Some seed had caught wind long ago and had stars shine upon it to plant itself away from its family. It is small, unassuming, like its brothers and sisters. But it is a blinding, perfect hope of a new meadow to come.
Let Love, be poppies. Make meadows around this world.