My dad used to tease us as kids, stepping towards us with his tall, big self (6’5” in his stocking feet), saying in a playful voice, “Closer…closer…closer!” before catching us with a tickle or two. We squealed with delighted trepidation, knowing we couldn’t escape the inevitable moment of touch and laughter
I thought of closer, closer, closer as I took this trilogy of flower photos, a few days prior to Spring, in Óbidos, Portugal.
At first glance, the red rose is barely visible against the aged wall, overshadowed by a bold blue parking sign with 2 lugares written beneath it meaning that two places were available.
In the second image, the rose reveals itself more clearly: a hint of red nestled amongst lush green leaves, with visible rosebuds on a closer look, yet to bloom. The old white and yellow wall, streaked with dirt and time, must have witnessed many springs and countless roses.
By the third photo, I’ve drawn in close. The rose’s velvety petals take center stage, its softness and structure revealed only at this distance. Just beneath it, I notice a hidden bud… almost missed…on the verge of blossoming.
Closer, closer, closer. My dad’s teasing words echoed in my mind, this time not as a game but as a call to pay attention to the quietness of detailed beauty. That long ago childhood fun taught me that some things can only be experienced up close and near. My rose trilogy isn’t just about a flower blooming and others on the verge of doing so; it’s about what is revealed when we come close enough to truly see.
Photos available for purchase here: https://melinda-kapor.pixels.com/collections/portugal