“At the temple there is a poem called “Loss” carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.”
― Arthur Golden
The title for this image came to me right away, though I’m not sure I fully understand it yet. The ‘nodding’ of the fading blossoms invokes images of weariness, not death. This is the stark contrast I find when photographing these blossoms. They are tired looking, yet often brighter than they were in their prime.
It is inevitable, what comes next, the endless night, a passing from this world. Yet, there is the final brightness, which for some reason, I have become keenly aware of lately. As in the quote above, it has become more of a feeling than something that can be expressed effectively in words. It leaves me pondering the image and the multiple feelings it’s invoking for me.
Tamron SP AF 90mm f/2.8 Di Macro 1:1 (272ENII)@90mm
2.0 sec, f/36.0 ISO 100
High Resolution image on 500px