The Eye Can See

I’m having trouble finding words today. When that happens, I open my photo app to see if there’s a photo I can share instead. This morning, there are a few. Maybe there’s a thread. Maybe not.

This flower was growing in Brent’s garden. Siri tells me she’s Rose Campion. That’s what I love about Siri: she knows a lot more than I do, and she retains it.

My favorite thing about this photo is the pollen. There’s a lot of it, and that gives me hope. I like that critter hiding in the petals too. Didn’t see him until I zoomed in.

Chives. Thank you, Siri:

And this is Harry. He bloomed for the first time on the day my friend Kirsti’s beloved cat Harry died, so I named him Harry too. This Harry is dormant now, a volunteer who found his way to a spot under the Camper Down tree we planted for our Wally. Wally’s full name was Wallister Pee McWally, Royal Dog. When we lived in Colorado, he would howl like a wolf when the automated church bells down the street chimed “Amazing Grace” at noon on Wednesdays. All this comes back to me with this photo.

This is one of maybe a dozen roses that bloom on the west side of our house every spring. Brent brings them in as they bloom so we can spend more time admiring them. The vase reminds me of my mom. She was a scientist and this is a beaker. I bought it for a dollar at the Oregon State University Used store. If she were here, I’d send her one for her flowers. She’d like it. The surface is our new induction stove. I’m getting used to it, but don’t worry. I was attempting artfulness here, not cooking the rose.

And our kitchen sink.

That’s Myrtle (the orchid) on the left. She’s had her daily steam bath coming off the tea I poured purposefully just below her. Next to her, roses in various stages of decay (or life, depending on how you look at it).

Finally, this:

It’s my right eyeball taken last week. Those retinal arteries carry everything I see to my optic nerve and on to my brain to visualize. Incredible. And maybe that’s the thread.