My favorite hydrangea
On one of the rare days this week when the wind chill would not turn you into an ice sculpture, Ollie and I took a semi-decent walk. I think that it’s a testament to these last couple of years that I have a favorite hydrangea. In summer, the flowers are a fascinating green tinged with purple. They grow alongside a yew hedge, and in summer, the flowers and the yew meld together, and it’s beautiful. I see a lot of hydrangeas on my walks; these are the prettiest.
I stopped to snap a couple of photos of the dried brown remains yesterday, noting that nothing remained of the beautiful colors. I heard a car pull up and park—the occupants stayed inside. I had a moment’s embarrassment, but then I went back to focusing.
As I put my camera back in the bag, the occupants got out of their car. “Taking photos of the hydrangeas?” the older man asked. His wife smiled.
I smiled a bit sheepishly, “Yes, I like hydrangeas. They interest me this time of year.”
This hydrangea, the man explained, pleased to have someone to talk about it with, I think, came from the grocery store. He put it in the ground about fifteen years ago, and it’s just thrived.
“It has beautiful colors in the summer,” I said, “that’s how I noticed it the first time, the green and purple flowers.”
Gushing over a shrub
He agreed. I told him that I liked watching it as the seasons passed, and then felt a bit embarrassed that I was basically gushing over a shrub. Out loud. To a stranger.
Take joy where we find it
Oh well, we take joy where we find it these days. That’s what this experiment is all about.
We said good bye, and Ollie and I headed back home.
Sundry Wonders: My favorite hydrangea
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