Every year the poppies in my garden are growing through some crucial stage in their lives. Most of the time all you can see are a few small leaves close to the ground in winter. In the fall they scatter seeds from the end of long dying stems, but for a few short days in early summer they become living objects of extravagant beauty and desire. Summer or winter, seed time or harvest, they grow, like love which when truly expressed lasts through all seasons not just the summer.