Scooters Sunflowers Nudists -

Go. Be. Bare.

is the plant of absurd optimism. It turns its head not out of indecision, but discipline—tracking the sun from dawn to dusk. It grows taller than any fence. Its face is a spiral of seeds, a mathematical poem. The sunflower doesn’t apologize for reaching seven feet high. It doesn’t whisper. It shouts yellow. It says: Grow where you are planted, but aim for the light even when the sky is grey. Scooters Sunflowers Nudists

Perhaps that is the secret of the title. Not a non sequitur, but a recipe: Take one machine of modest motion. Plant a field of unwavering attention. Remove all unnecessary covering. Wait for summer. is the plant of absurd optimism

Imagine a field at the edge of a town. A dirt path curves through it. On that path, a rests against a wooden fence—battery dead, kicked aside by someone who decided to walk the rest of the way. Behind the fence, a riot of sunflowers leans drunkenly toward the afternoon. Their petals are the color of egg yolks and old gold. And beyond them, on a private stretch of riverbank, three nudists are playing cards at a picnic table. One is sunburned on the shoulders. Another is pouring lemonade. They are laughing about something that happened yesterday. Its face is a spiral of seeds, a mathematical poem

You cannot be cynical here. The scooter is too small, the sunflowers too earnest, the nudists too obviously happy.