On my first father’s day without a father I’m reminded that, although I am no artist, as my father was, I developed from my father an ability to see color, texture, shape and design in the ordinary all around me. It’s not such a monumental gift, I know, nevertheless my day is always a little richer because I can be transcended by the light that filters through fern and astilbe and illuminates hidden pockets on the mulched garden floor, and I stop to appreciate the story told in the texture of tree bark. I marvel at small meaningful moments in time. I don’t look for these things, they just find me. The power of observation also gave me a notable career as a child psychologist. My ability to see, just one of the gifts from my father that I’m celebrating on my first father’s day without a father.
The outer petals of the iris attract admiration and create quite a show, but if you look closer you can see that their inner petal beauty is even more impressive.
