Lundblade Conifers -
The Backstory -
This beautiful stand of trees is across the street from my sister's driveway (hey, Neesie!). Every time I was leaving her home, I'd look at these trees and tell her, "I've gotta shoot those. Remind me next time I'm here." The conifers were partially obscured by some shrubbery and other plants, so I wasn't sure how I'd get a clean shot, but I was more than willing to try.
On one incredibly hot summer afternoon, as I stood in her front yard avowing my determination to someday "shoot those trees," Neesie said, "Well, let's do it now." (I've no doubt she was thinking, "Well, you whining moron, what are you waiting for? Let's do it now so you can shut up about it!")
When she's right, she's right.
We hopped into her car (a luxurious, golden sedan which I'm certain is left to me in her will) and drove around the corner where the trees unexpectedly backed up to a nice, empty expanse of parking lot. In the 104 degree heat, the parking lot was wavery and shimmering like a mirage in the middle of Death Valley, but I eagerly left the air-conditioned comfort of my car -- I mean, her car -- to reverently approach "The Trees."
They were gorgeous. Tall, deep-green, and cool in their imperious glory; and totally misplaced under the roasting sun of a South Texas summer day.
"Oh, loves," I thought. "You are here for me!"
As Neesie waited, patiently, in the cool confines of my -- oops! her -- car, I ignored the burning soles of my feet (it seems your average sneaker is not actually designed to withstand baked concrete) and took photo after photo of my new best friends.
When reviewing the photos, one thing immediately struck me:
The day was just too hot. These lovely specimens called for quiet shadows. These are my trees; the conifers I've coveted for years. They deserve a cool, peaceful dusk beneath a starry sky, and a sweet, quiet place to rest their feet.
Thanks to the marvels of modern technology, it was within my power to gift them with just that.
So, I did, and here they are.