Maria spotted the first wildflower of 2016 in the deep woods this morning, I had my new camera and she went to work. It was sitting alone in the middle a fern path, the forest had closed over her, and was dark and cool and beautiful. I remember reading something by one of the prophets, long gone. He believed that wildflowers were a living song, and that they should be welcomed with words that draw out their hearts, calm their minds, and bring them joy.

Speak to them, he wrote, in words that arouse desire and love and in words that honor the awe of life. I was too shy to sing to the flower out loud, although Maria would have completely understood. So I sang a song in my own head to her, and I hope she heard it.