Remembrance poppies.

Had we not stopped on that dirt track to consult our map, and had not enquired of the dustman we met, we would have never discovered the whereabouts of the poppy field, as it was completely hidden from the road. Winding our way slowly up the track, trying to avoid getting bogged down in deep ruts, we approached the brow of the hill as the first trickle of poppies came into view.

Driving a little farther, the whole field opened out in front of us. I can hardly begin to describe the impact of that beautiful panorama with the scarlet carpet of poppies. To say it was a sight to gladden the heart is faint praise. Feeling fragile, as I did after the gruelling months of mum’s terminal cancer, the sight of those poppies took my breath away. Feelings of euphoria swept over me, and, in a way I can’t quite describe, the more I drank in their beauty, the more I felt a sense of healing and wellbeing.

It was one of Nature’s wonders, a part of life’s rich tapestry, as far as I was concerned. So extensive was the field, that the wide-angle lens on my camera could not capture the whole scene in one shot. I was enraptured, using superlatives to wax lyrical about the beauty of poppies, an outpouring of emotion about how I felt about them in general, and this field, awash with them, in particular.

This superseded anything I had seen before. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, a red-letter day for me in particular, looking at those blood-red poppies, with heightened feelings of elation mingled with sadness, while thinking about my unforgettable mum.

And from the ground there blossoms red,

Life that shall endless be.

George Matheson.