we walk through aisles of sunflowers
not all yellow
some with brown or amber centers
surrounded by petals
like golden rays of sun

some play host to bee pollinators
or other insects who find a meal

worry free and armed with clippers
the only challenge is to decide
how much of the farm’s abundance
our family will be able to take home

we follow the lead of my grandchild
Willow points to one her size
I cut it and carefully she carries it

we cut six varied stems
a bouquet of sunshine
that fits in our arms

I hold her hand as we leave
look up to the cloudless azure
in gratitude we look back at the field
full like our hearts and hold onto summer
to make it last