Had I known how illusive the poppy can be; how late they open, how early they close, how sensitive they are to
the wind, I would have lingered longer in this pretty spot nestled in the mountains outside Lancaster. If you had
traveled this road that day, you might have found me scrambling up an embankment, or precariously perched atop one,
or (don't tell anyone) sneaking in through a wide spot in a barbed wire fence. Oh my, what we won't do for the shot!