PhotoGraphica Krohn

As the Papaver bloom grows and swells, the weight of the legacy it bears causes the head of the poppy to bend as if in silent supplication to some mysterious god or goddess. Some pessimistic observers temporarily believe it is a weakness of being; a sign of defeat. Then, like an ancient ritual that knows the well-worn path, each bloom follows those who have gone before, without the benefit of having been taught, or shown the way. Majestically, the poppy lifts itself upward, gradually emerging, suddenly unfolding the grace of it’s delicacy, dancing to the tiniest breath of wind from a passing butterfly’s wings.