Three daughters.

Different as any humans can be, represented in this photo by the tight bulbs that encircle the bloom. Do you see them—three resplendent objects of perfection?

Three individual shoots, yet all from the same branch. In shades, they share their mother’s quiet determination, and their father’s artistry; their mother’s discipline and their father’s flight of fancy. They rest, as often do flowers-to-bloom, perhaps waiting for the sun to coax them into blossom.

In the foreground, fully awake, alive, and mature, the blossomed Rose has pushed life to its limit. It reminds me of their eventual place among the garden’s tapestry.  My daughters, the best gift God has ever given to one whose love language is gifts.  The most frightening bundles of energy I have ever held and whispered to.  Simple, remarkable individuals.

All beautiful like the bulb that waits the dawn.