Walking along East 63rd Street in New York City during early May 2008, I came across a bed of tulips surrounding the trunk of a blossoming pear tree.  The flowers were planted within a black ironwork enclosure, and the bright petals of red, yellow and white were glistening; moving ever so slightly in the late morning sunlight.  Along the curb nearby were large black trash bags waiting for their daily pick-up.  The tulips appeared undaunted by the mundane and unattractive scene nearby. 

Bringing beauty to the world is what flowers do.  It is said that the origin of Zen goes back to when the Buddha gave a “silent sermon” during which he held up a flower and gazed at it, bringing forth feelings of joy and love, and contributing to the evolution of human consciousness.  So, not daring to leave because of the fleeting nature of the sunlight, and the temporary stay of tulips, I captured the moment with the small camera that is always with me.

Light, shadows, and a slight breeze imbued the flowers with changing shapes and intense color.  Reflections from the surrounding concrete buildings brought out unusual hues. 

Returning the next day, my beautiful tulips had changed dramatically.  It had rained all night, and they appeared to have collapsed under the weight of the water.  Their job was done.  
 
 

                                                                                                 Sandra Gottlieb