In the quaint town of Port Daniel, numerous lupins adorned the roadsides in dense, purple clusters, emerging from the gravel. Each cluster was a stunning sight, but one in particular captured my attention. Their tall spires danced in the breeze, with each bloom reflecting a bit of light, transforming the entire stretch of road into a gentle, flowing ribbon of color. Bees floated leisurely among the flowers, their buzzing harmonizing with the distant sounds of waves from the Gaspé coast.
Behind the vibrant flowers stood an aged house, weathered to a soft grey. Its red roof, worn and chipped, retained the last warmth of the afternoon sun. It seemed to me that the lupins were leaning toward the house, growing right up to the edge of the yard as if they had taken it upon themselves to keep the old place company.
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