This morning I dashed out the door, camera in hand, when the clouds parted and freed up the sun. Glory. A patch of blue sky, after four days of rain! But by the time I’d positioned myself in front of the little Japanese Magnolia, a favorite subject of mine, the clouds had reasserted their supremacy. Nonetheless, this pink bud, tight-rolled, stood like a sword requiring no special light to reveal her fine form.
What a paradox she presents. In her tightness, her petals, curled like muscles on a buffed bicep, look primed to pierce. But we know her softer side: a perfumed goddess who will soon unfurl her skirt, baring heavenward all she’s been given. There’s no hiding, no coquettishness when she comes out; she just shows us what she’s got.
Warrior and goddess, fighter and seducer, this mad, pink princess is Every Woman. She is a tight fist, a soft breast; a growling voice, a lover singing; a spear of strength and fire, tenderness and heart, boundless, without end.