I remembered the first time I found something that I loved in New Mexico. It was a tiny flower that was growing out of the curbs of the stoned streets. I liked it because they may have been the same type of flower, but they were different colors. It reminded me of moving all the time. The places were different but the stem was always the same. That day, the day I discovered the flowers, I took out one of the story cards and started to write “The flower, the flower that grows. It comes in different forms and colors, but the stem is always the same.”
