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| The Last Poppy |
I have this fantasy. I am running through a field of golden poppies. No shoes. Just soft velvety flowers underneath my feet. The skirt of my dress dancing in the breeze. The sun hitting my face and the wind tossing my hair in every direction.
Reality check. Running barefoot in a field is not pleasant. There are rocks. And snakes. And last I checked, stepping on a California poppy is a punishable offense.
