On a foggy Kentucky morn, a cornflower sits at the edge of the road bordering the hay bottom of my dad’s few acres. When the sun rises high and hot and burns the mist away, the azure blue blossoms will open wide and flat, welcoming waiting bees. Sunset will nudge the blooms inward, until a new day, and the cycle begins again. For the cornflower, life goes on, at least for the summer.