I have been watching the fat bud on the oriental poppy for some weeks.
The plant was rescued from one of the dilapidated borders towards the house, where we spotted the distinctive foliage emerging again in the spring, and dug it up just before the recent fencing work destroyed the remains of the border. Having housed it in a large pot for several weeks, I hastily thrust it back into the ground as soon as we had dug over the first few metres of our new borders; mindful of the hot dry days, its long tap root and the plump green bud that was already promising this year’s spectacle.
Wednesday morning dawned dull and damp, wind dancing through the trees and the cool air thick with drizzle; a marked contrast to the warm sunshine of the previous day. As I glanced out of the bedroom window, I saw a splash of scarlet in the garden below, announcing the arrival of this long-awaited bloom. I snatched up my camera and dashed out into the garden between showers.
Already her lowest petal was missing, no doubt torn away by the wind and rain, but even that could not mar her scarlet majesty.
Ah, I suspect this bloom may not last too long after such a wet start, but what a splendid sight she makes.