The Poppies were in the process of turning toward the sun, the sun had been hidden by both winter & some bushes. Nature had taken this tissue paper petaled flower, that needed ironing. Then Nature changed it’s mind & found it was perfect for what it was. A Poppie. I wish we were not so judgmental, that our children are who they are, our children learn in different ways then others. Those who are strong, are made to grow up & not sit behind a desk. Those that find blood an amazing thing, grow up to stand at a doctors exam table. I’m still learning that I don’t really need ironing & that I judge myself too often. Instead i will be the way I was intended to be. Wrinkled, but loved by the right people.