This time of the year I collect lost poppies. No matter what they look like, no matter how squeamish I am when I see them. No matter how broken. No matter.
I have been doing this for over a decade. I keep them. They are my reminder all year long of the soldiers that have fought for my freedom, my privilege of living this life in Canada.
Years ago, I was profoundly moved by a trip to Vimy Ridge. To stand in that pitted landscape where thousands of soldiers died amongst the mud left me deeply affected.
Every November we purchase poppies and often promptly lose them, where like the soldiers, so many are never found.
I don’t know what I will do with my poppies, but it’s about the act of collecting them for now.