It's early. My eyes are open but my dreams cling. In the garden, nascent poppies push toward full bloom. I don't know what happened in the night. Pods cracked open and in the dark, each poppy's true color emerged (although no one could yet see it). This morning, with their protective pods still clinging, they are comical, sweet, pleated, and fragile. They look approachable, but let you know they need nothing from you now. The poppies, at this early hour, are not yet bold and fully open, but they will be when I next see them.
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