The Curling Back of Those Petals

Shazam.  Last night while I was unable to sleep worrying about my fourteen year old granddaughter growing up in a world I no longer recognize, there was a change.  As I shifted from my left side to my right and back again, fretting about my friend who is having a protracted and fevered bout of COVID, there was movement out in my garden.  While I passed the early morning hours deeply engrossed in a new spy series about a woman who can morph her body into anybody she touches, this Tiger Lily, in the middle of a moonless night, suddenly unfurled and popped forth.  Oh to have a slow-mo of that!  With fully-loaded anthers the size of six tiny slippers at the end of spindly dancing legs, you'd think I'd be blinded by the mass of bright orange Tiger Lillies taking over my yard.  The progeny of all that pollen.  Alas, I have one and only one reliable blooming plant.  A bloom-free mate grows right next to him at the about same speed, looking like an ingrown toenail.  All twisty and such.  Another example of my expert gardening skills.  Nonetheless, I have waited like I was ten again, waiting for the rain to stop so I could go outside and play, for this wild and crazy, regal looking upside-down blossom, aptly named after a tiger, to finally bloom! I will gaze upon its wonderesness for days.  It's the curling back of those petals that gets me.