Mary Oliver, "Sometimes, stanza 4.
Instructions for living a life;
Talk about it."
I guess that has to apply even for unremarkable mustards that somehow one is lucky enough to notice. But then the talking, or the writing, is an interesting process. Years ago I couldn't see how necessary it is. Or how anyone dared let the mess in the head escape to a page. And fuss with it until they could hit save. How then an unremarkable mustard might have meaning, even when you don't notice your own astonishment.
And here's another unremarkable image from that meadow near Lenawee Mountain, Colorado.