The azaleas don’t care about the fog. They bloom anyway — bold, saturated, almost unreasonably pink against the soft grey-green world behind them. A parent and child walk the path ahead, small figures in a large and gentle landscape, the moss-draped oaks arching overhead, the mist keeping the distance soft and indistinct.
This is Forsyth Park on the morning of March 14, 2026, at peak bloom — the kind of morning that feels like the city put on its best for no particular reason, or maybe for every reason. The air smells like flowers and wet earth. Somewhere behind you, a lamppost is still lit.
Some photographs are about drama. This one is about tenderness.
Available as a matted print, canvas, or metal print.
