I have strayed away from naming my favorite flowers, trying my best to say that I have love them all equally like a litter of my very own children. This time I have to break my rule to tell you about one of my favorites, the poppy.
These poppies I purchased came from Italy. When you get a fresh bunch of poppies the buds are tightly sealed in a green fuzzy shell that you have to delicately peel off to reveal the orange, red, pink, and white papery petals. The centers are dark purple blue and the fuzzy stems grow in every which direction like a bold cursive letter.
While being a delicate and finicky flower I have no problem saving poppies after they have wilted, the flower remains eerily beautiful. Poppies are the Greek symbol for eternal sleep and oblivion, imagination and dreaminess.
In the Wizard of Oz while on their way to the Emerald City, Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion walk through a field of poppies, and both Dorothy and the Lion mysteriously fall asleep, as if from the opium of poppies. The Scarecrow and the Tin Man, not being made of flesh and blood, are unaffected. They carry Dorothy to safety and place her on the ground beyond the poppy field.
Regardless of the history of poppies and its dangerous uses, this flower remains one of the most beautiful buds I have seen. It is not common to find these flowers in the market which add to their intrigue and mystery, and the pods are just as unusually beautiful to see.
