A fogged lense-a blind shot—but the picture is just to document the story of the lily, part two. The flower first appeared on May 31, the old Memorial Day, middle of the field. An unexpected gift.

That night, there was heavy rain that battered the blooms; the lilies wilted, a one-day phenomenon.

So it seemed. This morning as I practiced boh in the front yard, I looked east across the pasture and was rather confused because there again were the lilies. After practice, I tromped through wet grass to see: two flowers and three buds yet to open. The very same plant.

I took a picture, surprised a lily could bloom again just 9 or 10 days after its first bloom.

The original brought pleasure to several people. My dad stuck a length of PVC to mark the location so he wouldn’t mow the plant down with his tractor. The story and photos brightened my mother. She can’t walk that far to see the flowers. She told the people at her beauty parlor. They wondered what kind of lily it was and how it got there. Maybe a bird carried it. Maybe a flood washed a bulb into the field. One stylist didn’t see what the fuss was about. So there’s a lily in a pasture.

I showed her the photos on my laptop. She grew quiet. She said her mother had lilies just like that. Perhaps she would talk to her mom soon.

This morning, there was the female kite up on the snag, chittering conversationally, the babies carrying on high in the nest. There were the six goldfish in full view, not secretive as they usually are. A honeysuckle in riotous bloom. Fresh magnolia blossoms. A pair of roseate spoonbills, big pink birds, that flew over as I approached the fish. Dandelions and thistles, and the second blooming of the lily in the field.