Given the increased chaos of the news this week, including images from the Kabul, Afghanistan airport of people hanging on the wings and body of a C-19, memories of Saigon in 1975 come blasting through, along with the tragedy. People are fleeing for their lives. I worry particularly about not only the translators who helped Americans in the war against the Taliban, but the women and girls who have lived in relative decency for the last 20 years or so. With only 2-4% of the Afghan people vaccinated, the Delta variant is also racing through Afghanistan as well as almost everywhere in the world. Climate change, infrastructure, voting rights. They all hang heavy, like wildfire smoke. I find the need to take camera in hand and find beauty in the world. As is typical, flowers, in this blog, fill the bill.
In their bloom lives, roses vary in color from first blush to the end. What I would describe as coral is first.
Toward the end of the petal cycle, the coral fades somewhat to a rich pink.
The petals fall and blow with wind and rain.
Finally, a shot of dark and lighter fuchsia-colored roses with hydrangeas, gifted to us by a friend.
Thanks to everyone who commented last week - Connie, Diane D., Marilyn, Orlando, Steve, Wayne, Ingrid, Pauli, Terry T. Geula, and Earle. It is wonderful to read your words, particularly during these times.
until next Monday,
a passion for the [email protected]