The light was bright, Papa T. had on a clean shirt and Mama J. had had her hair done that morning, so it worked out perfectly to take them on our way to dinner. I had only about a fifteen minute window of opportunity as that’s how long their patience lasts with posing when turnip greens and sweet tea awaits, but I worked as fast as I could and managed to get what we wanted.
No daughters-in-law were harmed in the making of these photos.
The whole time we were taking pictures, the loveliest patch of purple irises sat just feet away from me. They waved in my peripheral vision, screaming my name. “Ignore them, Hula. You have hundreds of pictures of spring blooms. You have overdone the flower thing. You don’t need anymore,” I told myself. “Get control of yourself.” And yet, they were there.
When we finished, Hubby started shuffling his parents to the van while I packed my stuff away. I had a “what if” moment and gauged how long I had to snap a couple of photos before everyone was loaded into the van and ready to go. “It’s a test, Hula. Don’t fall for it. Beauty shots are for amateurs. Hit the cemetery this weekend instead. Don’t fall into the flower trap anymore.” I packed the tripod, swung my camera around my neck and started walking to the car. “Don’t do it, Hula. Be strong. You can do this. Step away from the irises.”
And I couldn’t. I had to have just one.
*#%@ macro lens.