Time

There is never enough time.  To stop and gaze at the sunflowers turning their lovely faces towards the sun to soak up every single ray.  They don't care if it's too hot.  They don't have to rush around, going to meetings, putting up bulletin boards, worrying about getting everything done.  They just stand there, waiting for the Provence (or North Carolina) sun to direct them in their daily dance steps.

I wish I were a sunflower.  I would want Vincent to paint me.  I would smile at the sun.  I would live my limited life and be happy to grace the table of a lover of sunshine.

Bon appétit, les tournesols!