Where the flowers grow

At the bottom of my parents property there is a river bed. Most of the year it is dry, rocky and barren. For a few months of the year when the snow on the mountains melts, it fills with fast flowing water. But, at the start of summer, it fills with something else, something far more beautiful.

On one of the long days while we awaited the impending birth of the wee girl we would call Isla, we took a trip to the riverbed. Holly was filled with wonder as she stood looking at the orange flowers that stretched as far as the eye could see.

We picked a bunch to take home and put in a vase, they lasted a few days before they died. But the memory of her wee face as she wondered amongst the flowers will be forever in my memory.