I’ve heard it said that a photographer’s subject chooses them. That there is a kind of inevitability to it. Something already present, waiting for a way to surface and be seen.
Lately I’ve been drawn to blooms.
Not the perfect pristine ones most often celebrated.
Instead, the ones that have been altered by their surroundings, trampled, wilted, or withered.
There is a sadness to them, which is beautiful in its own way. But more than that, they reveal the often-unnoticed forces that shape us all: weather, ecology, shifting climate, and their effects on what is most vulnerable.
I see myself in them. And something broader, something human.
During spring break, we spent the week at my parents’ cabin. The trees had already begun to bloom, too eager to wait for winter to fully pass.
Rather than leaving quietly, winter made a final stand. A late season storm, a call to attention.
I photographed the blooms before, during, and after the weather event.
These are my field notes from that week.
Day 1 – March 14, 2026
The day was warm and bright, closer to summer than the tail end of winter.
Snow Fountain Weeping Cherries, Eastern Redbuds, and Yoshino Cherries were all in bloom.
Carpenter bees filled the air around the redbuds, their low hum constant and overwhelming. I stepped closer and then quickly retreated, their energy too insistent, enough to make me flinch.
By the evening, they had quieted. A few remained, gathering what they could before returning to their burrows.
In their place March Flies and Small Carpenter Bees, so slight they were nearly invisible.
At the Yoshino Cherry, an Asian Lady Beetle moved deliberately along the branches in search of aphids. Nearby, a Carpenter Ant followed a similar path, drawn to the honeydew.
Their routes crossed, briefly contested, then continued. Both were slow and consistent.
Day 2 – March 15, 2026
The warmth was gone, replaced by an overcast sky and steady winds.
Everything was wet.
Puddles collected on stone steps and along the wooden deck, reflecting the bare tree canopy above.
Water gathered on the blossoms in varied forms- teardrop, elongated shapes, and occasionally perfect spheres.
The water drops like fun house mirrors distorted and exaggerated the surrounding world.
There were no pollinators in sight.
Only gray skies and stillness.
Day 3 – March 16, 2026
Thunder before dawn, lighting and hail its companions.
By midmorning, rain turned to sleet. Then ice. Then snow.
By midday, the ground was covered. A last showing of winter before its departure.
My daughter’s first snowfall. Magic made real.
We caught snowflakes on our tongues, hair, and eyelashes.
The cabin like a snow globe drew us to the windows.
A jumping spider settled along the rim of my mug, sharing the warmth.
As the snow started softening, I stepped outside.
Ice crystals stacked like sugar. Snowflakes held their six-sided structure against the green of the leaves. Sleet formed rounded stalactites, like petals of glass.
Day 4 – March 17, 2026
A few stray flurries lingered into morning.
The white of the Yoshino Cherry blossoms showed signs of strain. Fine brown lines traced along their veins.
Some petals had fallen, leaving only the pistil behind.
The redbuds that had fully opened were wilted, their blooms hanging limply.
Those still in bud remained intact, the tight pepper shape a shield.
The Snow Fountain Weeping Cherry wept too, branch and bloom in unison, downturned.
