So what do you call a photo that’s kind of an iconic image? A flower peaking through a fence? Sticking its neck out? Looking for freedom? Taking a risk? That was my first choice.
In any case I was on foot on my way back from the bank and had my camera and all my lenses with them. I saw the purple cosmo from a distance down the alley and couldn’t wait to work my way to it, past the Roses of Sharon, the old white barn garage, and the wrought iron fence.
I was just taking this photograph, near the last of about three dozen shots, and shifting from a kneeling position on the gravel and asphalt of the alley to a more reclining position when a big red Ford truck pulled up. It happened the be the person who owned the flower and the back yard, and she looked down out the truck door and said, “Yes?”
“Photographing your flower!” I said. “I’m fine, you probably think I’m lying down in a faint from the heat!”
“I’m also a nurse, so I did wonder,” she replied.
She began to move away and I told her not to be surprised to see me in such position again photographing something else out in that alley.