glow

When I was little, the field across the road, a creek bottom where the neighbors' pony grazed, was full of Black-eyed Susans at this time of year. I loved the names of things--flowers, birds, spices--but when I finally saw some up close I complained to my mother that they ought to be called Brown-eyed Susans.

I meant to get a shot of them growing in the grass up near the pond, but my neighbors cut the hay before I got around to it. At least that long-ago pony assures me the hay won't poison the horses. Or cows. I'm not sure who they feed it to.

Now that I have them growing on my own land I get to enjoy them indoors, and I admire the way they look against cherry. I love the little yellow crowns on the brown centers.