This photograph is two weeks old. In the time it took me to think of what to say about it, the flower and the plant supporting it began to shrivel. This enormous flower lasted only a few days, unless the time just seemed to fly. The garden went from filled with happiness to almost dead and gone in a time that was disturbingly short. Without this photograph the memory would be suspect. I would wonder, was it as big as this or was it was really there? Memory sometimes embellishes. And sometimes it just forgets. Things that last all season are hard to forget. But things that bloom and die come to be doubted, like glossy pictures in magazines. Pretty, but unbelievable. In another week there will be no trace of this flower, and in a year, when my neighbor comes home with plugs from the nursery, such flowers will seem almost impossible.