A perfect name for a flower that cannot live beyond the dusk of its first and only dawn. It has the look of a rose, a foolish rose. But it takes on the posture of poppies. The petals are thin. At the slightest touch of the wind, it flaps like a possessed dervish. The petals are broad and red. The red, however, is deeper than a bright red rose. The red is garish and scorching like a fire. In this foolish extravagance of color, it burns itself out right after midday and turns a sickly yellow. As twilight showers the dying day with the last bit of gold left in the sun, Infatuation is a sad, wilted grey. As far as smells go, a whiff is enough. Anything more could make the average stomach sick. There is never an ideal condition for this flower. It blooms wherever. Nothing can keep it from dying. No amount of watering or misting or moisting or sunlight can save it from itself. To fertilize it is to quicken its death.
Calendar of Care: In the summer, plant in baskets hanging from the attic ceiling and keep far from the window sill. Save the dead plant for the winter. Repot and expose to drafts and early frosts.
Photo Credit : Lunch Box