Petals of my youth
It always makes me very happy to see California Poppies. It's kind of funny, because in and of themselves I don't think they're particularly beautiful. Tulips are particularly beautiful. And irises. But these poppies are kind of plain and not planted on purpose.
The house where I lived during elementary school had a cliff out front. At least that's how it seemed when I was four feet tall. I suppose it was more of a hill. Maybe just a slant. At one end of the yard it was basically flat. But as you went back towards the other end, the front yard just sort of dropped off, with increasing steepness the further you went. Am I describing this well? At one side, the front yard met a path that ran along the edge of our property and headed down through a field to some apartment buildings with a playground. At the other side of the yard, standing at the edge of the yard, at the edge of this cliff, a person could look down at this path far below. And in between the two sides was in between. Whether I've painted a good mental picture or not, the hill/cliff/yard was covered with California Poppies. A field of orange, and every now and then cream. I loved to sit with them, surrounded by them, pulling the caps off the unopened poppies. Opening them. Touching those velvety orange petals. I loved that I knew their name. California Poppies. I loved that, sometimes, opening up the flower I'd be surprised by a cream colored one. I loved that there were enough of these flower to play with them and pick them and rip them apart. And there were always more.
Yesterday was my last class of the semester. Walking to class, feeling a mix of sentimental and thinking I should feel some significance in this event, I saw these California Poppies.
When I first started doing Picture of the Day I was shy about taking pictures of flowers when people were around. Or carrots. Or license plates. I was discrete about it. Inconspicuous. I'd wait until I was alone. But yesterday I snapped a shot of these lovely California Poppies without shame.
The house where I lived during elementary school had a cliff out front. At least that's how it seemed when I was four feet tall. I suppose it was more of a hill. Maybe just a slant. At one end of the yard it was basically flat. But as you went back towards the other end, the front yard just sort of dropped off, with increasing steepness the further you went. Am I describing this well? At one side, the front yard met a path that ran along the edge of our property and headed down through a field to some apartment buildings with a playground. At the other side of the yard, standing at the edge of the yard, at the edge of this cliff, a person could look down at this path far below. And in between the two sides was in between. Whether I've painted a good mental picture or not, the hill/cliff/yard was covered with California Poppies. A field of orange, and every now and then cream. I loved to sit with them, surrounded by them, pulling the caps off the unopened poppies. Opening them. Touching those velvety orange petals. I loved that I knew their name. California Poppies. I loved that, sometimes, opening up the flower I'd be surprised by a cream colored one. I loved that there were enough of these flower to play with them and pick them and rip them apart. And there were always more.
Yesterday was my last class of the semester. Walking to class, feeling a mix of sentimental and thinking I should feel some significance in this event, I saw these California Poppies.
When I first started doing Picture of the Day I was shy about taking pictures of flowers when people were around. Or carrots. Or license plates. I was discrete about it. Inconspicuous. I'd wait until I was alone. But yesterday I snapped a shot of these lovely California Poppies without shame.
posted by toni @ 2:22 PM
1 Comments:
At 5/05/2005 6:09 PM,
Anonymous said…
I think they're beautiful.
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