25 Apr 14 . My father's favorite flower was the begonia, and he raised them every year in a set of holes in the cement blocks that made up the base part of the fence on the south side of our home. Every year he would tend these lovely little flowers and each year we had a slightly different grouping of colors. They were never my favorite, and in fact, I didn't really care for them much at all; the flowers he had in the yard that I liked were the red hot pokers that attracted a lot of pollinators and a form of dark purple lily that smelled a lot like skunk cabbage. Never knew why those lilies were planted, because everyone else didn't like them and I never really expressed a strong desire in having them around. But smelly or not, they were very pretty. I don't recall having ever seen them since, or if I have, I haven't recognized them. The begonias however were a different story, and although not my kind of flower, I can't help remembering my father each and every time I see them. I suppose he is walking around in heaven either wearing them in some fashion or tending to a lovely garden of them for all others to enjoy. This is basically one of those straight shots from the camera save for a bit of cropping. Nikon D300s; 18 - 200; Aperture Priority; ISO 200; 1/60 sec @ f / 8 with full flash.