In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Linger.”
I loved to spend the first part of my morning walking throughout the extended neighborhood, camera in hand, to take photographs of the flowers just wakening to the warming sunlight. I love the unfolding of all sorts of flowers, the shapes of their leaves and petals, the solid colors, shades and mixes of hues one wouldn’t think to put together otherwise. And it’s a marvel, how in place a honey bee, a butterfly, a bumblebee or wasp looks in a flower, no matter its color.
The wild blue flax flower is best photographed in morning light, because the petals fall to the ground in the afternoon. Only one flower at a time grows on each stem. Hostas flowers have a delicate grace all their own. I have to walk fourteen or fifteen blocks to photograph hostas. Along the way are roses in the church yard, petunias in the planters in front, lilacs and peonies, if the wind hasn’t torn them to shreds.
My favorite flowers, though, are the tiger lilies. At one time, close by, there was a family with Scottish terriers that had a marvelous garden with tiger lilies planted around a shade tree on the boulevard where I could photograph them at any time of the day and evening. They reminded me of the flowers in the private garden, in the hospice area of the independent living center, where my husband’s mother had taken an apartment the year before.
Those neighbors and their flowers are gone, now, but the photos and the pictures in my mind evoke memories of love and comfort, consolation, the presence of family members even in their absence. Now, wherever I walk, I look first for the flowers and hold my loved ones close to my heart.