|Flower in the Neighborhood|
I don't let the complaints or perceived lack stop me. I want to create and I have always worked with what I have.
Today. I needed to get out and walk. I have to. To keep my heart healthy. I don't like exercise unless I am swimming in a saltwater pool or hiking at the coast or one of our many beautiful parks in Sonoma County. I don't like gyms either unless you count the aromatherapy saunas and whirlpool. Parks, coast, and fancy spa are not in the cards right now.
A walk around Suburbia is what I have to work with. It took everything I had to get my butt up and get moving.
I took my cheap (let's be nice, inexpensive) cellphone with me to take photos. I gave myself an assignment in order to get moving.
Take photos of the orange California poppies and the two large oaks in the field of wildflowers.
I got moving.
On the way, dogs growled at me confined behind six foot fences, a man with an ash grey beard retrieved his mail from the box on the sidewalk cradling a silver tabby like a baby in his arms, a few blocks down-a blonde young woman stopped her honda in the middle of the road spotting a lost dog poster, I heard her speak to me or whoever witnessed her surprise. "I found that dog. She has been missing for awhile", as she took a photo of the picture of a small dog on the white paper clinging to a beat up telephone pole, ten feet away, a grandmother walked her toddler granddaughter near the bed of wild orange poppies, both curly haired with beautiful olive complexions matching each other.
And then I found the flower amongst the trail of small miracles.
She looked up at me, her face to the sun.
I took her picture with my cracked in pieces falling apart camera.
Her beauty shining through, not letting the broken hide her light.