By the time I found the sunflower field, it was not only late in the day, but late in their life cycle.  Stems once as stiff and tall as bamboo saplings curved earthwards, weighted by their precious cargo of seeds forming in the wake of the labor of bees and other pollinators.  Shriveled petals shivered in the breeze and sun, like feathers ready to float away.  The more I tried to look the sunflowers in their soft brown eyes, the more my own eye grew silent.  I wanted simply to stroll along, shoulder to shoulder with these friends. letting them be as they were, absorbing the afternoon warmth.  I walked the full length of the field, reaching a small grove of oaks, and turned to look behind me.

From where I stood, their lemony radiance was a total surprise.    I had never imagined what I might find behind the sunflowers, facing towards their homing compass.   I could see what the sunflowers saw, and together we seemed to be wanting the same thing:  to let ourselves be drawn into something warm, to be filled with the mysterious power of light, and to become the Self we are already waiting to find.