Tiger Lily

It was my second day on campus for an event at the Libraries. My obligations had concluded and I stopped by the duck pond again, hoping to catch some more pictures of yesterday's painted turtles. There are many colorful flowers there, and a recent rain had left glistening water droplets on every single tiger lily: jewels dripping with jewels.

I saw them first from a distance: a young blonde woman in a bright orange fitted dress, almost the same color as the lilies. She was accompanied by a dark-haired man who was holding a baby and pushing an old-fashioned baby carriage. The baby was black-haired, solemn, silent, round.

"I can tell you're a professional photographer," the woman said, striding purposefully toward me across the wet grass; "Do you have a few minutes to take some pictures of us?"

She carried a bouquet of ivory silk flowers, a matching flower tucked in her hair. A straw tote hung from her right elbow. I was nodding and smiling Yes; and she reached into her straw tote, handed me a tiny camera.

I posed them on the white pavilion near the lilies, the entryway to the secret garden with a courtyard that always looks so lovely in the rain. First all three of them, then just the two of them (the round baby waiting patiently and silently in the nearby baby carriage). I took a few shots, zoomed in on their faces, then stopped and showed her what I'd gotten.

"Is this what you want?" I asked, showing her the tiny screen. "One length-wise, please," she said; "Today it's all about the dress."

And all about the shoes, too, I thought, looking appreciatively at her shiny, gold, peep-toe stacked heels. I wondered if she didn't worry about ruining them in the wet grass.

I snapped a few more pictures of them both, head to toe, making sure to get both the dress and the shoes. And the tiny white pavilion around them, the border including the flame-colored tiger lilies. I wondered later if she'd notice in the pictures how well the lilies matched her dress.

The ducks were walking all around us and some were sleeping in the grass nearby, their heads tucked under their wings. I motioned to the ducks, cautioned the couple against stepping on them. "How about some ducks in the picture?" she asked.

An obliging duck stepped forward. The man leaned down. I took some shots of him and the duck. The man snorted, stood back up, acted like adding some ducks to the whole thing was just a bit too silly.

I posed them both against the old president's residence, whose white columns and broad porch make it resemble a southern mansion. Several women were sitting on the porch. "Those ladies on the porch are quite nice, I'm sure," she said and shook her head, "but I don't want them in my pictures." I obliged, carefully shooting around them; and then the ladies themselves obliged too, getting up and leaving.

Another one of the ducks came toward us and I tried to include it in the shot. I think I managed. As I leaned down on a knee, the duck came right up to me, stuck its face right into the camera. I snapped away, showed them the shots, gave them back the camera. The man reviewed the pictures, began to laugh: "I like how it looks like the duck is attacking you in this shot!" he said. And we all smiled at each other.

The woman thanked me for my time. They wished me a happy weekend, said how grateful they were; how wonderful it had been that I'd been there when they needed someone to document their big day. (What event they were celebrating, they did not tell me; but I admit the silk flower bouquet the young woman was carrying so carefully made me think of a bride.)

Then they turned and walked swiftly away. I got out my own camera and turned back to the pond. And then I thought - But I didn't get any pictures of them for myself! Would it have been a strange thing to ask?

Through a break in the vegetation, I caught one last glimpse of them. The dark-haired man, the baby carriage and inside it the silent round baby, the woman in her bright dress - the color of the tiger lilies - and her golden, shining shoes.

One last look: the reflection of her dress shimmered on the water and then disappeared, like a tangerine dream.