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Poppies on the Hill

Briones house first lookI am looking out the window as I sit at the kitchen table. The sky is an impossible blue. The trees and shrubs are a rich, lively, breathing green. The golden grass on the hill, which slopes up to the trees and shrubs was cut down yesterday by a young Hispanic man and his weed-whacker. The slope is still gold in color. He cut around the poppy flowers. There are three individual plants of poppies with about 2 orange blossoms each. He took extra care to not cut the poppies. What was going through his mind when he decided to not cut the poppies? He made a conscious decision to go around the poppies, when it would have been easier for him to just cut them. Was there some compassion triggered in him to not cut the flowers with the grass? What made him care about that? Did his mother teach him to love flowers, or to respect the beauty of nature?

I did not get a good look at his face, I didn’t try to. But now as I see the flowers he left behind, it makes me want to have seen his face, to see his humanity beyond the young man picked up off the street corner and driven up here, given the week whacker, and told to cut the golden grass across the hillside for probably $10 per hour. Was he grateful for the job?  I never saw his face, but I see his heart, because he went around the flowers and did not cut them. I see his heart, and feel the vibration of his caring energy, as I look out the kitchen window at the hillside, at the golden slope, the lively orange poppies with the verdant green trees and shrubs, and warm blue sky.

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