The Story

The wildflowers were placed in my hands.

My body felt as if the ground beneath me had softened. I tried to compose myself, but everything suddenly felt distant—like reaching through a fogged dream. Standing required more than I had.

I set the growing worry aside and focused on getting through what I believed would be only a few days.

Later, light from the window drew my attention back to the wildflowers resting on the sill. The vase was webbed with dust and time. I studied the stems, unsure what, if anything, remained.

Horns and haunting petals beckoned—myths gathered easily here, stories formed to soften what felt too sharp to face. I couldn’t recall what it once looked like in bloom.

I hadn’t photographed in a long while. Long enough that counting the months felt dangerous. But today—today there was enough steadiness to create.

Uneasy, but more curious, I carried the flower to the camera.

As I worked, I noticed how easily the mind drifts—toward what can no longer be recovered. I resisted that pull. The flower before me asked only for presence.

Beneath old beliefs and quiet superstitions, something steadier held.

Eternal Presence is a reminder that meaning is not found in what once was, but in what endures—here, now, across time.