My Father’s Flowers

Time freezes in an image. In the case of my father’s flowers, their visual essence is captured by my camera. Sound is not an issue, but for the breeze as it caresses the leaves and this is so soft as to be ghostly. It is rarely remembered when compared to the passion of the image.
My father has a fondness for daylilies. I must admit that so do I. In Upstate New York, an abundance of orange flowers overwhelms the otherwise green landscape. This sunrise hue punctuates gardens throughout the Tristate area, at least during the summer months. However, my father’s garden holds yellow, pink and crimson varieties with dark centers and curly petals, as well as the more persistent orange blooms. Not the average daylily. And therein rests the fascination.
I ask my father whether he breeds new varieties, thinking that perhaps some breed he has created is catalogued somewhere. He says no, but that the bees do it themselves. While I do enjoy the hybridization process that growers all over the world undergo, I enjoy also knowing that nature will continue as it always has, and that life is still evolving under its own recourse.

to read why the bees are dying: http://www.hcn.org/servlets/hcn.Article?article_id=16891&gclid=CKuSmMHfnY0CFRlsTAodWhae3w
(The Silence of Bees)