top of page

Made to adore flowers

On this beautiful Resurrection Sunday I felt like sharing some old photos I took in 2016, and this poem I wrote last summer. These photos will always be some of my favorites because they were some of the first that I ever shot on my film camera. Typically photos of flowers do a terrible job capturing how stunning they are in real life but every once in awhile, especially on film, you get a photo that gets somewhat close to accurately representing the beauty. The photo of the poppies was taken in Denver. I was there on a trip with my mom, visiting my dad during his captain's training. I was 18 years old. I remember there were flowers everywhere. I remember we got caught in a wind storm. The others were taken on a hike in Yosemite that same summer. There the flowers were less obvious, you could miss them if you weren't paying attention. Then you'd look and there they'd be, dotting the landscape with their innumerable colors, as if the artist knew exactly how sparing to be so as to make the biggest impact. All these years later I still remember these flowers, and many more. I think I was made to adore flowers, and everything else in creation, and to try to capture that somehow with painting or drawing or photography or words or really anything I can think of. It seems like the only sensible thing to do in the face of all that beauty and grace.







He met me in the garden


He had hands as big as the world


That could fit still, somehow


beneath a baby's cheek


Or between the wings of a bumblebee,


should they get caught on something


or even just a little tired


And he said in a voice


whispered between the pages of two worlds


Come to me all you, who are weary


and I will give you rest

Comments


Copyright © All rights reserved.

bottom of page