San Francisco, California
I’ve been trying for days to capture a picture of the foxglove in full, resplendent glory now that its time has come, but no angle gets the flower’s beauty right - the tall elegance as a whole, the complex individual bells designed to draw the bees. Every frame I’ve taken is cut off or caddywampus. I kept trying until I realized - all things considered -these shots are no more fragmented and out of focus than my current life.
Everything, it seems these days, is made up of small tidbits, rather than the whole. When we can even find a time slot for grocery store delivery, only a fraction of our order lands at the door; we have to look elsewhere for the rest or do without. Relentless headlines present only an imperfect picture of where our country is, and where we’re going, no matter how often I reload the page. TV ads designed to make me cry succeed. I read only single chapters of my books - and sometimes single pages, single paragraphs - before I get distracted and have to start again. Puzzle pieces do not fit. Laundry’s done in fits and starts. Meal clocks, baths, and bedtimes begin to inch around the dial as there’s no calendar of events to pin us down. Even conversations with my friends are made funny by the cut-off faces appearing on the screen. All first world problems, I know, but disorienting nonetheless.
But there is beauty in the fragments, too. Sometimes a limited view allows us to focus on what feeds our souls and gives us peace. I don’t need to see the whole foxglove in order to wonder at the pattern on its bells; I don’t need to finish the chapter in order to relish the beauty of the words; I’m not sure I’m ready for the whole picture of this pandemic and the sorrow and chaos it is bound to reap. For now, this small world in which we live is enough to keep me safe and clear enough of mind to enjoy the crooked flowers as they bloom.