It had taken hours to hike to the meadow. A place of life recognized by only those who care to know.
Tiny wild violets peeking up at the sun. Old Man’s Whiskers, pink and nodding. Vibrant, red Indian Paint Brush stands in the greenery.
The sound comes once again with the wind. The seeds rattling in the capsule and papery calyx of the dying Yellow Rattle.
Author, Photographer, Lover of Life