At first glance, this image might appear abstract — almost unrecognizable. But with a moment of stillness and closer inspection, the form begins to reveal itself: a flower bud, tightly closed, its petals meeting in a soft seam and blushing just barely at the tip. It’s a moment suspended in time, caught just before bloom — quiet, intimate, and full of potential.

I photographed this at the Chicago Botanic Garden, a place I often return to when I want to slow down and reconnect with nature. Armed with my Sony A7R V and the Sony 90mm macro lens, I set out to explore the smaller details — not just what’s visible at a glance, but what waits to be discovered when you really look.

Macro photography has a way of changing how you see the world. That lens, with its ability to focus in so closely, let me isolate this single bud and fill the frame with nothing but its quiet geometry and texture. The light that day was soft and forgiving — overcast, diffused — which helped emphasize the velvety surface of the petals and the gentle gradient of color without introducing harsh contrast.

I didn’t use any artificial light or reflectors. Just natural conditions and a bit of patience. What I wanted was to let the subject speak for itself — to give space for its quiet elegance to come through. The symmetry of the bud, the near-perfect fold, the blush of pink at the tip — these were the things that drew me in, and I wanted the image to feel as meditative as the moment felt in real life.

What I love about macro work is how it forces you to be present. It shifts your perspective, both literally and figuratively. You stop scanning for big, dramatic scenes and instead start noticing the quiet moments — the textures, the transitions, the small dramas playing out in the spaces we usually pass over.

This image is less about the flower itself and more about the feeling it evokes — a kind of peaceful anticipation. A moment of pause, just before something opens.