A flower so lusciously large and bright that when the texture of the petals is clear, the stigma is out of focus. I complimented a man in a parking lot a few years ago on his obviously brand new Harley Davidson. He was beaming with pride and it was as big and as manly as he was. But there was something bright and gentle about the bike. I asked him what color it was, expecting something like lonesome sun or dessert evening sand. He looked at me and smiled. He asked if I knew what a color wheel was. I said, of course. “Well, this bike isn’t sort of or some kind of, this bike is dead center yellow. There must be a thousand yellows, but this is where they start.” I think this flower has the same quality about it. It’s large and manly, in a feminine sort of way, but above all else it’s yellow. Only an idiot would ask what color it was. The one bloom on a large bush, and I couldn’t move until I snapped this photograph. With a little leather and a great deal of chrome I suspect we could almost hear its engine.