Master's Garden

Everything was just slightly out of focus—so close, so textured, so detailed—but still a little blurry. I didn’t have my glasses on, so my eyes were doing the best they could, catching shapes and shadows more than lines. That kind of seeing where it’s not sharp, but somehow, it’s more alive. I’d sit close to my little pot garden outside—maybe ten plants total—just watching them. Letting the leaves blur and breathe. Letting the sun hit them just right. Getting as close as I could without moving. Letting the image wash over me instead of pinning it down. Then I brought out my Rebel T5—my old high school camera, the only one I had. I knew it wasn’t the proper setup. The lens wasn’t right. Even on the landscape setting, I wasn’t going to get the sharp image I imagined. I tried to focus in, to do what I could with what I had—but it still wasn’t crystal clear. Not with that lens. And still—I got the pictures. Even without seeing perfectly. Even without the “right” lens. I got the shots. The details showed up anyway. And maybe that’s the point. Because sometimes it’s not about having perfect focus, or perfect gear, or perfect sight. Sometimes it’s just about being close enough to feel it. Close enough to notice. And when we can’t quite get the sharpness we’re after, maybe the better question isn’t what kind of lens we need— but what we’re left to focus on.