This seems like a picture no one else will want.  It resonates with me, though.  The image feels like I witnessed something:  my life, which is too genuinely imperfect and unruly to be aesthetic, brushing up against another being who was unfolding without waiting until the conditions were better.  I thought the light was lovely,  and I decided not to be embarrassed.  I thought maybe I could make a picture.  It’s only an amaryllis on the kitchen floor, after all.  What’s the worst that could happen?