“Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees,
(If our love remains),
In an English lane,
By a cornfield-side-a flutter with poppies”
A neighbor (sort of) has a row of Icelandic Poppies. I have these serious desires to see them bloom during the winter months, then when spring comes I count the minutes until they make their debut.
After this afternoons rain, I grabbed my camera and headed out in search of rain drop photos. I hadn’t considered them at first, mostly I was just wandering aimlessly with my cupkeiki, but then, as we neared their street my excitement grew. Last year I snapped a pic of them, with a puddle and reflection. It got honorable mention for the city’s Nature in the City program/challenge.
They were as lovely today as they have been for the last week, and last year and the year before. Something about water drops on petals that brings out a romantic, fragile and dreamy state. I’m grateful for the man who grows and tends to these. I’m ungrateful to the passerbys that clip them or walk on them.