During a very special frame of time between mid-morning and late afternoon, flame princesses awaken and peek above the hills in the isolated west of Lancaster. They toss their heads in the wind, soft auburn and orange against the cracked grassland of the Mojave Desert. With their feet planted deep into the soil, they turn their faces up towards the spring sun. The yellow breasted meadowlarks sing out to the poppy princesses below as they wave back in delight. Even with rattlesnakes slithering past their green legs, the maidens stand upright and unafraid. These precious few hours are all they have to drink in the daylight and to feel the gentle breeze whispering sweet nothings to them. Separated by 8mi of tracks which run between the patches, the delicate beauties rely on the wind as messenger or the occasional human to carry their letters. By the late afternoon, they fold back in upon themselves, so silent you would never have thought the hills had come alive to begin with.