Deerfield Beach, FL, December 2008
At once, this photo has both everything and nothing to do with flowers. The nothing is easy: This is a salt water beach. Between pounding surf, mindless surfers and the occasional jellyfish infestation, this isn't the kind of place where a bouquet of anything short of titanium would survive. The everything is also easy, as our daughter's name is Dahlia. And like the flower, she's blooming into one lovely human being.
(Sidebar: She got glasses last week. They make her look like more of a lady than she already is. My wife wrote about it here. End tangent.)As I've shared previously, it's a joyous thing to watch the munchkins pursue their own art. They're such effusive, creative kids that it's easy to put some tool of creation - whatever that tool may be - into their hands and let them loose. They come by it honestly, thanks to my wife, but they still manage to make the moment their own, and to come back with something totally unique to them.
It was 4:35 p.m. as we wandered through the ankle-deep water, cameras in hand. Late afternoon is an interesting time at the beach, as the lengthening shadows send the sunbathers home, only to be replaced by a smaller crowd of hoodie-wearing folks walking through the surf.
The day was slowly drawing to a close, but our kids were intent on squeezing just a little more joy from the day. Dahlia quietly followed a few seagulls (familiar, I know) and zoomed in from afar to avoid disturbing them. She spoke to them gently, almost willing them to stay nearby, nearly convincing them she wouldn't hurt them. Nearly, because soon after 4:35, the inevitable gaggle of unruly kids (no parents in sight, big surprise) ran through, splashing everyone in sight and frightening the birds away.
No matter. She's the kind of kid who seems able to create peaceful moments, both with a camera and without, wherever she is.
Your turn: Making peace where there is none. Please discuss.