Friday, May 16, 2008

Sweet White Violet....


I have a damp area in my backyard and these white violets grow there every year. I took this photo yesterday morning, the blossom itself is less than half an inch from top to bottom. I had to lie right on the ground so I could see into my viewfinder because of the low angle and I had a plastic tarp underneathe me so I wouldn't get wet. My foil fill was propped up to the right of the camera bouncing extra light into the little blossom.

12 comments:

Eve said...

Everyday, a new lesson! Thanks John, the violet is beautiful!

The Birdlady said...

It is PERFECT!

kjpweb said...

I agree with Helen - a perfect capture. The dew is wonderful as are detail and colors! Kudos!
Cheers, Klaus

Mary said...

Wow...you really captured the moisture on it. Lovely.

Nick S said...

A fine set of recent photos John. You seem to have a real knack for the flowers . Bravo !

Sandpiper said...

Yep, can't beat the word "perfect!" This one certainly is! Beautiful, John.

2sweetnsaxy said...

What a lovely photo! I love the water on it.

Stacey Huston said...

I miss these little flowers.. It is not wet enough for them here, but I do still get to see them when I am up in the hills. great image, and I have my foil in the car, just need to find the right moment..

Kathryn and Ari said...

I just love these little violets. They're so easy to miss--they take a good eye like yours!

TSannie said...

Violets are one of my favorite blooms. Your photo, with all the water drops is incredibly beautiful. It'd make a lovely note card.

Anonymous said...

Your beautiful picture made me cry. Thanks for sharing it. I lost my infant son last year...and I love violets.

Some grieving ramblings that your picture fits:

I rush, and rush, and talk, and talk, and smile. I am good, VERY good at smiling, always smiling. Polite, so you won't hurt. I am brave and strong. I lie and hide how angry and little I am. I hate you for forgetting. I hate the way it doesn't matter to you. I hate that you have never had to hold my pain, but without batting an eye, you ask me to hold your joy. I guess you think I have forgotten the day my heart died--the day my world went to hell and back.

And then, I hate myself for hating you and wish I were truly the good person I pretend to be.

In the quiet place, in the woods, in the shadows, under the trees (who are always there to listen)...that is where I cry.

People must not really think about the quiet place. If they cared, they'd know where the quiet place is--but no one has ever asked me for directions or followed me there. No one else even thinks about the quiet place. They could go with me, but they are too busy and too happy they don't HAVE to go to the quiet place. I think people are afraid of the quiet place and think it must be an ugly, creepy place full of spiders.

But it is in this sad spot that shimmery fairies play and giggle...and water drops glisten on tiny violets that cover the ground. The saddest part of the quiet place is the most beautiful...and when I am forced to go there (for I would never choose to go) I am the better for having been there.

My Jesus knows my quiet place...for once He too walked alone in a quiet place of His own. He doesn't say much when He is there with me. He is quiet, respectful in my quiet place--we don't have to say anything. We are very quiet and we gently place water pearls on each of the violets together.

--Author Unknown

Anonymous said...

Your beautiful picture made me cry. Thanks for sharing it. I lost my infant son last year...and I love violets.

Some grieving ramblings that your picture fits:

I rush, and rush, and talk, and talk, and smile. I am good, VERY good at smiling, always smiling. Polite, so you won't hurt. I am brave and strong. I lie and hide how angry and little I am. I hate you for forgetting. I hate the way it doesn't matter to you. I hate that you have never had to hold my pain, but without batting an eye, you ask me to hold your joy. I guess you think I have forgotten the day my heart died--the day my world went to hell and back.

And then, I hate myself for hating you and wish I were truly the good person I pretend to be.

In the quiet place, in the woods, in the shadows, under the trees (who are always there to listen)...that is where I cry.

People must not really think about the quiet place. If they cared, they'd know where the quiet place is--but no one has ever asked me for directions or followed me there. No one else even thinks about the quiet place. They could go with me, but they are too busy and too happy they don't HAVE to go to the quiet place. I think people are afraid of the quiet place and think it must be an ugly, creepy place full of spiders.

But it is in this sad spot that shimmery fairies play and giggle...and water drops glisten on tiny violets that cover the ground. The saddest part of the quiet place is the most beautiful...and when I am forced to go there (for I would never choose to go) I am the better for having been there.

My Jesus knows my quiet place...for once He too walked alone in a quiet place of His own. He doesn't say much when He is there with me. He is quiet, respectful in my quiet place--we don't have to say anything. We are very quiet and we gently place water pearls on each of the violets together.

--Author Unknown