Perfection.
If you look on the lower half of the bloom you will see that insects do not rest on Sundays.
This small fragile sunflower is perhaps the most perfect one in the garden. Nothing all season has come this close to making me stare at length.
The open fields of my youth are reborn.
Like a painting.
In spite of being planted in the wrong spot where it is too hot, they demand to be seen and bloom just about the time I think they need to be transplanted.
CAFFEINATED POLITICS 