I picked a yellow flower from the new wildflower garden and, on impulse, dropped it into our old concrete birdbath, fresh with storm water from last night. I liked the starkness and color of the image. I forget the flower until I showed the photo to Maria, and she looked mournful and asked if I had left the flower in the birdbath to die.

I went outside and brought the flower into my study, where it sits by my muse.