Only the most meticulous front yards have no poppies. Everyone else, I believe, thinks of them as a blessing. Here is one peeking out under a hedge.

And here are some squeezing between the sidewalk and an aging fence.

And here are some infiltrating a garden of succulents, geraniums and other things. There are so many poppies at the moment that they have become, is it possible, almost invisible. The poppies that were bright orange foreground are becoming more and more background, an accent to the fullness of life one comes to expect. Except that their days are numbered, as are ours. And the day will come, as it always has, when they are nothing but seed awaiting the miracle of regeneration. And we must search for other things while waiting for them to return and once again surprise us.