Three rose bushes were planted in my backyard by my mother in law as a gift for my third wedding anniversary. I thought it was a kind gift for my wife who was into gardening. Who would have thought that I would be the one falling head over heels over natural floral asymmetry. If you have yet to do so, I highly suggest you see my photography series featuring my roses in the summer. This post serves more as a backgrounder.
I can just feel my mother in law, nestled away in Denton, saying “I told you so.” And she might be right. Each time I hold down the shutter I’m whisked away somewhere different; transformed. Droplets of rain echo miniature rose universes balanced on each petal. Yellows have lately swirled into solid pink revealing character unbound.
When the rose is at the end of its lifecycle they shrivel up and fall to the ground where I eagerly anticipate the arrival of a new tenant. My roses have since endured snow, ice, floods, drought, insects of the unsavory variety, a dog, and wondering, but not feral, cats. My wife and I fear their demise through each hard Texas winter freeze only to be surprised when the resilient buds emerge in spring.
There is always something new to photograph when it comes to my roses each year they return. In the past, the brilliance in red contrasted by a cool olive green made for a very moody portrait in the spring. The first days of fall has invited pinks, blue, and green, creating gorgeous buttery bokeh I never thought I could capture naturally. I used to oil paint. Photography is so intoxicatingly different. You can’t mix with a palette knife what you have yet to observe naturally.
I may take up oils again. Not now. I see more roses about to bloom!