Now I Remember Why

I used to love photographing flowers.

The color.

The sheen of cells.

The pollen.

Yes, the weight of the pollen.

To see spring

I push

my lens,

into daffodil

& hyacinth cups,

grains glistening

promised spring.

Their fire

must do

for now.

Oh how

I hate

must do.

Photographing Red

A former student's beautiful Facebook photograph of a red flower captures what I find so hard to shoot: red things with contour, shadow, and three-dimensionality.  Under her picture, I commented, "Red is so dadgum difficult to photograph!"  She replied, "Yes, it blows out so easily, doesn't it?"

Indeed.

Caressing a Cardinal Flower this afternoon with my eyes, I kneeled in not-yet-hardened-muck and, like a penitent, sought spiritual guidance.  I surely earned forgiveness if not transcendence.  I could not, no matter how many snaps I took, quite capture the beauty of the flower renowned for its attractiveness to Ruby-throated Hummingbirds.

My heart fluttered as a bird's wings might whir, and while I did not pierce the long throat of flower -- dusting my head with pollen -- I pierced the afternoon sky with bloody blossom.  Today, that was pleasure enough.

Pollen

Pollen swirled on University this morning as a university employee worked his way down the hill, wielding his leaf blower like a war machine, tornadoing dust and leaf mold and pollen.

At the garage, Harold said, "Bad day for pollen."

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Up close, pollen sparkles like blown glass. I can prove it. Just look: picture 1 -- clematis pollen; picture 2 -- blown glass ball (a gift from Pringle).