Either I want to eat this azalea or it wants to eat me. Whichever, I doubt we'd survive. I love it so much I'm not even going to collage it, but shamelessly slather large and rather samey single shots all about. So what if I use up my Blogger picture allowance.
Our rhodo and azalea bed is, we fear, too dry. This one nearly gave up the ghost in its first year or so, until Tom moved it just across the path to a bed that gets the run-off from the barn roof, where it flowers with a prodigal generosity. The other impossible-seeming bounty of it is its fragrance, that rich and blowsy ylang-ylang-tart's-boudoir miasma that I thought only came with the run-of-the-mill yellow luteum kind.
As you may have gathered, I don't require flowers to be subtle.