One of my elegant neighbors, Red Pen, follows the delightful tradition of posting a photograph of a flower every Friday. The photos are individual and intimate – she has an eye that quickly recognizes each personality that makes up a garden's population.
On photograph especially fascinated me. It was a yellow rose - remembering The Alamo, perhaps – which gently receded into the soft distance with the exception of a single petal which stood out blade-sharp. Each petal was warmed with a halo of pink as it curled into the curved interior.
I thought I'd draw it.
But, to my dismay, my first effort failed. And the second. Followed by a third disaster. Put plainly, the rose's wayward charm was the very devil to capture.
What follows is my fourth (or fifth) effort. As you can see, the melted pastels have been demoted to black and white. I've added leaves because, frankly, I had to. Still, hidden behind the additions, alterations, extractions and licenses you will find the original bud that delighted me at first sight. Like looking into the eyes of a loved one and recognizing the spark of attraction that started it all.