Early Spring in our little hollow came with poppies. Bright, singing, laughing, orange poppies. The pride of California.
It is a joy to watch them through the day. Opening slowing to the warmth of the sun. Following those warm rays across the sky. Then gradually closing for rest as the sun dips below the neighboring hills. Like a recalcitrant child who refuses to go to sleep.
As the days grow longer and the temperatures rise, the flowers give way to their progeny. Seed pods full of tiny black dots. A new generation of giggles.
Some, in the cooler, shaded areas strive on.
The breezes of Spring have died so there is less singing but they persist. Soon the heat will bring them to the ground and their offspring will prepare to spread the song.
The children will welcome Summer. They will expand in the pods that now cradle them. They will burst forth like applause from clapping hands. In silence. On the wind. With great joy and high expectations.
Expectations of warm soil and gentle rains.
If all goes well, they will rise from the ground to sing with their ancestors.
What a chorus that will be.