I threw myself into the shower, into clothes, and into the car. Sure enough, there they were -- a clump of white wildflowers vulnerable to the weed whacking of the University mowing crew.
Four times in two days, like a pilgrim, I have visited those flowers, hunkering down with the bugs, trying to take the perfect picture. I have not succeeded, but I have fallen hard for their spinning petals and pencil-shaped nose cones.
Who wouldn't?
They're blossoming fantasies from some child's imaginings of starships before we went to the stars with our space capsules and orbiting telescopes.
And they're just as beautiful.
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