If you go anywhere by train in the end of May, you will find poppies growing along the track. Their seeds were blown to all those places by the wind that sweeps behind the trains from one side to the other. The flower itself is very interesting in terms of symbolism, at least from my point of view. We could spot a woman in it.

As a little girl, I liked to play in the sandbox. I built sand castles that must have been inhabited by some noble princesses. I feel like it was the only time in my life that I played a valiant knight freeing a princess from a cursed castle. The princess was made of a poppy flower. When you tear it off and turn the stem upwards, it has a beautiful red skirt. It entices you to look at it, it looks innocent, but it can hurt.

But if you wanted to make a bouquet from these wild flowers, which grow in the inhospitable environment of railway tracks in the heat, rocks and wind, and you plucked them into a vase, they would wither in your hand on the way home. They don't want to be imprisoned, they want to grow freely, wherever the wind takes them. Like wild women.