There is nothing quiet so dramatic as the seasonal journey of a lotus pond: the rising up from muck in the summer heat; the outrageous, near-brashness of the flowering, the floppy leaves like mainsails catching the least breeze; and the inevitable collapse in the low-angled light of autumn, adding a remarkable physicality to the season of Fall, another victory for gravity and decomposition.
Nothing quite tells the story like the beautiful wreckage of a lotus pond at the warm season’s end as hints of approaching winter begin to test us early in the morning.
