Des fleurs, toujours des fleurs

Flowers, always flowers…

I never tire of photographing flowers.
I can spend hours in the English Gardens, examining every detail, breathing every perfume. Dreaming…
The time of day, the cloud cover, the breeze, the crowds, the insects, the sounds, all contribute to an ever-changing experience.
Proximity, angle, composition, groupings, geometry, shadows, focus, depth of field…
The star of one becomes the supporting cast of another.
Once in the flower’s space—or allowing it to enter my own personal space—a unique bond is created, if only for a few moments. Every detail is exposed for the eye to see; pollen, petals,  pistils, stamens, stems, leaves. Every curve, every flaw. Within mere centimetres, I find myself holding my breath, conscious of the stillness of the subject, not wanting to disturb it.
Can the flower feel my presence? Does it sense the intensity of the look, the scrutiny? I think not.
Does it understand the joy it creates, this elation, this sense of wonder?
And when the summer showers can no longer sustain it, and the gardener’s watering can has emptied for one last time, the flower begins its final journey.
A different look: colours waning, petals wilting, leaves shriveling, seeds falling, covering the ground at its feet, melting into the soil for the next generations to come. Or for itself, preparing for a long winter, until the time is right, once again…
I never tire of photographing flowers.

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