The Little Seed Pod

I guided my steps down the quiet lane toward the community garden, climbing up onto the wide wooden bench where the terracotta pots rest. Right across the weathered slats lay a strip of coarse woven burlap, its edges frayed into gentle golden fringe. Caught in the loose weave was a dried poppy seed pod, shaped like a tiny fluted cup. I knelt down and cradled the papery bulb between both hands, tilting it with steady care. With a soft, hollow rattle, half a dozen glossy black seeds tumbled neatly onto the rough cloth, resting like tiny beads in the morning sun.