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Description
Everyone loves to photograph live flowers, but what about dead flowers? Isn't there a sort of symbolic beauty in the death of a flower, that slow wilt and decay of something vibrant and perfect? What's more is the tendancies of flowers to dry and leave behind a sort of skeleton of what they once were, which in some ways is equally - though differently - lovely. These flowers were planted in the spring, and though they've long "died," the remains still stand. The late-day sun on a winter morning casts the shadows of the dried stalks, much in the way these remmenants are a shadow of the beauty that once bloomed there.

Description
Everyone loves to photograph live flowers, but what about dead flowers? Isn't there a sort of symbolic beauty in the death of a flower, that slow wilt and decay of something vibrant and perfect? What's more is the tendancies of flowers to dry and leave behind a sort of skeleton of what they once were, which in some ways is equally - though differently - lovely. These flowers were planted in the spring, and though they've long "died," the remains still stand. The late-day sun on a winter morning casts the shadows of the dried stalks, much in the way these remmenants are a shadow of the beauty that once bloomed there.