Conditional Reality

Our front lawn is adorned with orange California Poppies. They are wild wanderers, finding refuge where they can. They arrived here three years ago and have been reproducing ever since. Their buds look like shaman hats, tall and pointed. Their blooms remind me of the colors Tibetan monks wear. At night they roll themselves up against the cold like tight sleeping bags. In the morning they open up, orange umbrellas catching sunlight. I like to see them lining the steps, waving in the wind, as I walk up to the front door. It always feels like they are saying hello.