The Poppy That Stayed

That morning, every flower in the garden had turned toward the sun. Only the poppy remained leaning toward the window. Beyond the glass, a woman held a cup between her hands and looked without really seeing. The coffee had gone cold. The day had begun some time ago, but she had not. The poppy knew nothing about difficult days. It knew only rain, light, and the way the wind could bend its stem without breaking it. So it stayed there. After a while, the woman noticed. She opened the window and touched it with one finger. “Still here?” The poppy moved a little in the wind. Of course it was. And for that morning, it was enough.