I remember the times when they were everywhere.
I remember those wild and those which gave us poppy-seeds.
I remember the fields of them and those dried heads making amazing music when it was windy, but then… people learned how to make drugs of them and nowadays you can not just have a field of big poppies.
But this one has a different story… and light. It was October… and almost everything around it was already withered…
And in fact it is one of those fake poppies.
Just put by the field to make them more attractive to bugs.
Not being a part of the field. Coming from a weird box…
But still… somehow so sentimental.
Maybe even too sentimental to me? Because it is so hard to find them during summer. I get it, clean wheat etc… but…
Something in me cries too loud.
Something in me lost the faith in everything. Because I know, that there is that one last poppy. One true… and if it will not have a tiny at least, chance to grow… we will loose them forever. Nothing biggy, right…
Just a flower.