The sky was overcast. The air was still. The temperature was perfect. It was early Sunday morning and I was headed for a flower photography adventure. My destination was picturesque Lake Remembrance. Earlier that week, on a hike at another trail, a friend told me about the beautiful pink flowers he’d seen there. His enthusiasm inspired me to see them myself—and, hopefully, photograph them. Even after taking pictures of flowers for decades, I looked forward to seeing these flowers.
When I arrived at the lake, morning mist was evaporating off the dark green water. I breathed in calm serenity. Camera in hand, I headed to the trail, which wove around the edge of the lake, secluded by old-growth woods. The moment I stepped onto the path, I saw flowers blooming on both sides. Cornflowers, Queen Anne’s Lace and Yarrow were just a few of the summer-resilient species that welcomed me with their colorful cheer.
I couldn’t wait to see them through my lens, where I have an even closer view of their magic and beauty. I immediately started to make photos. An exuberant runner ran by and smiled. I moved on to the next flower. Two cyclists nodded as they sped past. A man and his German shepherd strolled down the trail but not before I said good morning.
Some of the flowers leaned over the path, inviting me to notice them. Others, flourishing under fallen tree branches, were hidden at first glance. Those discoveries were delightful.
Near the trail’s halfway point, a quick breeze blew through the trees. It tilted and turned the branches and blossoms I was photographing. Then, a rumble of thunder got my attention and I looked up at the sky. Ominous gray rain clouds hovered near the skyscraping trees west of the lake.
I knew a storm could move in quickly. Now, a mile from my car, I decided to keep taking pictures but walk faster. I hadn’t gone much further when a gust of wind whirled around the trees and across my path. Then, another. A splattering of cool raindrops fell on my shoulders. Though a canopy of branches arched over the trail and kept me mostly dry, I knew the storm was nearing quickly. Worried about my camera, I put the cap on the lens and started to run back to the trailhead. However, not far into my return, a hedge of Rose of Sharon bushes stopped me. These were the flowers my friend had described. The exuberant fuchsia blossoms were sprinkled with pearls of ivory pollen and honey bees relished the flower-filled bushes.
The rain had stopped for a moment and I decided to take some pictures. Through my lens, I saw details of the exquisite art and geometry, grace and strength of each blossom. It amazes me every time, every flower. Even the buds, keepers of secrets that will soon unfold, dazzled me.
I waited for the breeze to still, as I composed an image of a particularly beautiful blossom. Its petals stirred like lush feathers ready for flight. Then, for a few seconds, the gusts stopped and I made had a window for photographs. Immediately, the wind picked back up and the raindrops started again, but bigger, heavier and more.
It was time to say goodbye to the magic in front of me. I clicked the lens cap on, wrapped my camera in my sweatshirt and ran back to the car.
I was so thankful for the opportunity to see and photograph all those flowers on the lake trail. Though their blooms are brief, the gifts they leave behind endure.
