On the way home from a quick photoshoot, this beauty stopped me in my tracks! Nestled at the very bottom of the shrub, on the side of the building, tucked back from the street and right under my own window, it was looking out at me. Staring intensely. Despite its nearness to me it had gone entirely unnoticed due to its discreet placement. It took a change in perspective, approaching my home from a less traversed route, for me to see it there.
It was love at first sight. Those gorgeous veins, that rusty color. I knew I was looking at the beauty and juxtaposition of life and death. The camellia, its petals still plump and firm, its face uplifted for display from its leafy perch, all very much alive. But its pearly white now a rusty brown. Its veins unnaturally pronounced. It is dying but not yet dead. It is not yet so far gone that it has lost its youth.
Now that I know it's living far beneath my window I watch it from my desk. I look to see how it's changing, if it's still hanging on, if it's still vibrant or if it's fading. I struggled to capture it with either my Nikon or my phone, and then to get the edits just right. It seemed an utter impossibility to capture in a mere photo how much it made me feel when we first met. I'm feeling equally inadequate in writing about it now.
When I explained my frustration to Benjamin and asked for his help with the edits he asked me to describe how it made me feel, what I was trying to capture. As he edited, I went on a lengthy and passionate discourse about life and death and the beauty in holding both, simultaneously, all at once. I talked of Miss Havisham, the very definition of that frozen moment in time where the once hoped for blossom of youth and possibility and dreams is held suspended as dying and decay take hold.
I know living. What it looks like and what it feels like. And I know dying. What it looks like and what it feels like. But just how often do we really have the opportunity for the two to coexist in our hearts and minds so strongly that the scales are evenly weighted and they are both/and all at once?
This flower is vibrant life and beauty and mortality all at once. And so are we.