Monday, April 13, 2009
Some months ago, before the hot, dry summer that even killed some of the rose bushes at Casa Authorblog, it was a lazy afternoon that demanded photography. I'd spent about half an hour or so shooting some of the freshest roses that surround our property, when I decided to take a complete change of approach.
I went looking for the oldest rose bloom in the greatest state of decay. That just happened to be this specimen, standing tall but distinctly ragged and well past its best on a bush called Chicago Peace.
Since I had a macro lens on the camera, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to go for the unflattering close-up. Forget the petals, forget the colour that had faded well past its best display. I figured I would go so close that I could literally stick my nose in the rose.
I was going to concentrate on the miniature tendrils at the very centre of the bloom. Let's put this in perspective. They are absolutely minuscule, a few millimetres long at the very most. As I could see in the clear afternoon light (and as you can see in these images) even they had succumbed to age and were completely tattered.
I got a couple of decent shots and then I thought I heard a sound. I knew it wasn't a sound from within the inner recesses of Casa Authorblog. I knew it wasnt the distant sound of an angle grinder. I knew it wasn't the sound of the camera.
So, like some of the shrewdest generals in military history, I staged a retreat. No, let me amen that. I staged a strategic pull-back to assess the situation.
Sometimes my brain isn't the quickest on the planet. The sound I'd heard was the unmistakable buzz of a bee.
Sure, and it wasn't the theme music from 'The Sting'.
Visit Luiz Santilli Jr for the home of Today's Flowers.