We were all lulled by the quiet and warmth of the afternoon. Suddenly, the sound of buzzing filled the air. Intense buzzing. I looked over at the dogs who were standing over a poppy plant, watching it quite intently. The poppy was in the process of folding up her leaves as the sun was going down and a bee was inside, gathering the last of the pollen before twilight.
The flower danced and hummed; the bee left just as the flower closed up. A poem came to me suddenly and I wrote down these words:
secret, sacred dancingIt's the small things I miss when I think about California...
inside an orange petaled poppy tent