I am in love with Poppies. They’re one of the flowers that takes my breath away instantly. Most flowers have that affect in a bouquet. I love getting bunches of beautiful color but Poppies are one of the few that are stunning all on their own, in my opinion.
For instance, a rose is not. It’s covered in greenery that’s too dark for my taste and thorns. The actual shape of a rose isn’t very pleasing to me, nor is the scent. I don’t “get” roses as one of the most over used flowers around, I don’t really enjoy them. They don’t feel special. The feel over worked.
Lily of the valley is my all-time favorite flower. For a couple of reasons: The dainty bell shaped flowers that gather on a stem; almost too small but supported by leaves that hug the delicate nature of the flower as it poisons the air with it’s fragrance. I mean that in a really great way. It releases it’s perfume in a lovely little cloud of invisibility and if you walk by a patch of the flower you’re all of a sudden surrounded in this lush smell, the tickling of your senses.
Poppies on the other hand are just so stunning. They grow in a field behind our house – and you’d never know they were there unless you first wade through the tall grasses filled with other wild flowers, weeds and animal burrows.
But then, out of nowhere, erupts this orange blossom. Standing tall. Being proud to be different.
And I literally cannot take it. I gasp. Every single time.
They have these pods before they bloom which look soft and almost fluffy and then it blooms into this silk petal with a satin shine. And the best part ever? The inside. The pollen. It’s dark purple and stains. It’s like powder and if you tip the flower over it’ll sprinkle like a fairy.
So we took a few for our yard.
And every time I look out side to see if they’re still there, I giggle.
I have a secret in my yard. A secret just for me.