Photographer Denise Moore takes her camera outside and brings back busy bees and bluebonnets to cheer us.
Photos and essay by Denise L. Moore
Texas wildflowers remind us spring is here. The bold colors of bluebonnets, Indian paintbrushes, golden eye phlox, and four-nerve daisies are here.
During this never-before season of lockdowns, quarantines, and isolation, the familiarity of nature’s rhythm comforts me. Mother nature did not fail me this year. She brought wildflower color explosion within walking distance from my home. My generous neighbor always has the best colors and the most wildflowers around. His blooms outdid themselves this year. Mother nature knew we needed some beauty right now.
I’m that neighbor kid – the one always at your house who ends up staying for dinner on Meatless Mondays, Taco Tuesdays, and Whatever Wednesdays? That’s me.
Thanks to Covid-19 I won’t hang around for dinner, but I’ll sit among my neighbor’s wildflowers long enough to get a sunburn, a few ant bites, and maybe, if I’m lucky, some tiny creatures surprise photo-bombing the blue bonnets.
I wander down the road to this wildflower patch, cameras in my backpack. Careful of fire ants, snakes, and flowers, I find a spot. I sit, breathe, and wait. Slowly, my eyes slow and shift focus quietly scanning for movement. I cock my head for a new view from a different angle, and wait. With each exhale I’m closer to being one with this beautiful field. I know. It sounds woo-woo. But it’s the best description of that moment when headline news, statistics, and viruses fade away.
I might see a tiny movement or buzz. Next, I’ll spot it soon enough to see, but not quickly enough to photograph and that’s okay. I don’t want to shoot it, yet. I’ll follow the sound of a bee or the woosh of two butterflies playing chase in and out of bluebonnets and paintbrushes.
I glimpse everything from a new perspective. Then, I’ll begin. I’ll start shooting a camera. I’ll keep looking, scanning the big field while zooming in on the bottom of a blue bonnet leaf. In and out of stillness and camera activity, the day falls away.
Lost in mother nature’s world.
As you may know, bees are struggling to survive. I’m happy to report they’re doing well in northwest Bexar county.
When I first sit among the flowers, I see a single bee. As I still myself, I realize bees are all over. I pretend to fade into the green leaves and brightly colored flowers. They come closer and closer.
I watch them do their busy as a bee work and I’m happy. Strangely it gave some glimmer of hope that stirred deeply in my heart.
And, obviously, there are no Covid travel restrictions for bee flights.
So, I watch them work.
Just me and the bees.
And maybe a friend or two.
Before I know it, my neighbor comes out, and parks his golf cart in the shade – keeping a safe distance of more than 6 feet. He asks, “How long have you been here?”
I pause, furrow my brow, purse my lips to one side and say, “Um, maybe 10, no, 20 minutes?”
“You’re getting sunburned.”
“Hmm. Maybe it’s been a little longer.”
