Two Things, Alive Together

Just being alive. We two. I and the poppy.

Issa's arithmetic is strange. He counts himself and the flower as a pair, not as observer and observed. What if attention works this way: not as a reaching toward something separate, but as a quiet recognition that you already stand inside the same breath, the same morning? The poppy does not need your admiration. It only needs you to notice that aliveness is shared, unearned, and enough. This is what changes everything.