grace
A delicate curtain of blue trumpets is gracefully draping the pine tree, vines hanging loosely from the branches, double looping around themselves, weaving in both directions to create a blue and green fall coat for an evergreen tree. Tens of large cerulean trumpets open to the gloomy October sunset. This variety is called “Heavenly Blue” for a good reason: it has the intensity of an spring sky when there are no clouds in sight.
I’m not sure what encouraged this exuberance, the vine had no flowers in spring and surely couldn’t be bothered through the summer. It now blooms with surreal abandon, pressed by the approach of winter, wave after wave of cheerful funnels reflecting the sky.
Photography taught me humility. No matter how rushed or careless I was I couldn’t take an ugly picture of a flower. At any magnification, the texture, shape and color of a flower are perfect. First I thought it was the camera, or that photography was a natural talent that I was yet to develop, but I assure you that is not the case.
I accidentally discovered this truth a few months into garden photography, when thrilled with the extraordinary performance of the camera (which is indeed very good) I tried to take a close up picture of a random inanimate object. I couldn’t understand why it didn’t turn out well, so I tried different lighting, different backgrounds, different zoom, nothing wiped the dull off of the image.
Maybe it is easier to see beauty in the things you love, or maybe the flowers benefited from superior design. It is so disarming to see perfection even in blossoms that are meant to last only one day, so many of them, no two exactly the same, enfolding with an ease that none of us could ever hope to master.