You can't help but feel a little sorry for daisies, so much a victim of their commonness. Because there are so many, and because they are so profligate, so easy to grow, we take them for granted, even though most of us, I'm sure, can't help feel the soul brighten a little at a whole plot of 'em dancing in the sun.
We waited until late in the day to water out back, to give everything a drink, so late the sun was spreading a quilt of gold over the world just like it always does; and I happened to be right there with the daisies, the sweet nothings, in light only Midas could create.
All that buttery radiance shown through the drops that hung from those daisies in a way that seemed a joy--maybe because the temps during the afternoon reached too high for man or beast.
So I'm standing there, hose in hand, and I can't help feeling refreshed myself from all those sweet daisies soaking.
So I'm wondering what might happen if I hold the camera in one hand, hose in the other, and take a couple shots.
You'll have to be the judge.
I've repeated the line often enough that I really should chase down its origin: photography teaches you how to see--or at least brand new ways to see. Snapping pictures of daisies isn't particularly difficult. They're cute and sweet as busy kids on a sunny beach.
But what's happens to me happens to all of us, I think, when we look closely. When we do, we see differently, don't you think?
The real truth is simple. In this world, you don't have to look far to find beauty. You just have to look. What a blessing.