Chet Baker, Photobomber

Every morning I go out to run and see our road. When it's hot and still and humid, I get up very early, trying to beat the sun.

 And on the morning of July 16, I decided it was at its absolute most beautiful, the peak of its bloom. 

By some fluke, none of the hayfields had yet been mowed. The meadowlarks had had time to get two broods out. The grass was old and golden, its choking pollen now hardened to seed. 

There was even butterflyweed in full bloom, right on the road's edge.

It is hard to take a photo of any flower without being photobombed by a certain person.

When Chet Baker sees me crouch to take a flower photo, he immediately turns around and comes back to get in the picture. I used to think it was coincidence. I think differently now. He is deliberately bombing my shots.

Any photograph is better with me in it. You know that by now. I am just helping.

Here is a sequence of chicory photos, beautiful in their own right.

There's something about that cool periwinkle blue, teetering on the edge of pinkpurple, that kills me.

What's that in the background?

It is I, Chet Baker. Smiling for the camera.

You look like you could use a kiss. Well, here I come with a kiss for you.

He "just happens to be walking by" too many times for it to be a coinkydink. Just another thing I love about him. That sleek brindle boy with his one white glove can bomb my flower photos any old time he wants to.