My grandmother grew flowers on her farm in Eastern Tennessee, tending them alongside the strawberries and tomatoes—not as ornament, but as another crop the summer required. This grouping holds both the blooms and the memory of them. Light moves through these images the way memory moves through a life: softening edges, dissolving what's inessential, keeping only what still matters. Each photograph asks the same question—how much can be let go of before the bloom itself disappears.