You know those magic things that pull the oldest memories to the front of your mind? That fill the dimmest, grayest, murkiest thoughts with color and sound?

These tiny flowers do that for me. When I look at them, I immediately remember being a little girl, sitting on a blanket in the shade on a scorching summer day. I’d pick them from the grass and run their petals – impossibly soft – along my cheek where they’d stick in the sweat at my temples. I’d imagine they were fairy crowns or make them into rings or kiss them and make a wish.

Isn’t it funny how memories work? What’s the oldest memory you have?