I didn't know where to go, but I had to go somewhere. When I get that wandering feeling I can't stay in one place. I looked around, seeing only the church, parking lot, and a field of flowers separating it from a budding housing development, like those common in California. The church was new too. The building was freshly painted and the parking lot was new, dark asphalt with a few small, loose stones scattered across it. I kicked one, chased it, and kicked it again, until I saw a path at the far end of the parking lot and decided to see where it went.

"It's strange," I thought to myself, dragging my hand through the flowers like they were silk or fur. "I'm on a trip, away from my family, and instead of being homesick, I want to get farther away." I jerked my hand away from the flowers, and jumped almost into the flowers on the other side, then started laughing as I watched the bee float upwards in a spiral, then down to another flower.

"Since when are you afraid of bees?" I asked myself, skipping a few feet down the path.

It was such a beautiful day outside, sun shinning, a few clouds floating on the wind that swayed the flowers and kept it from getting too hot. It was quiet except for the distant sound of people, the hum of bees, and an occasional word or two from some birds. The air smelled warm, damp, and growing.

One of the flowers caught my eye, more than one really. There were hundreds of white flowers, grouped together in a dozen clusters. One of these clusters had a violet flower at the center, instead of another white one. I bent over to look closer, making sure it was really in the center. Then I reached out to pull that cluster away from the others, checked the stem to see if that flower was really a part of the others, and not just an overgrown version of the purple flowers growing close to the ground. It wasn't. I grabbed the stem to pick it so I could show it to the others. Then I looked at my watch and let the flower go. I still had time to walk further. I could pick it on the way back and it wouldn't wilt before I could show everybody.

When I returned, I stopped for a few minutes to pick it. Maybe if I pressed it in my Bible it would last forever. Again I stopped myself, just before picking it, remembering, "Unless it dies and falls to the earth . . .", and thinking, "This flower is so pretty. I want there to be more like it." Pressing it into my memory, I left.