By Jordan Hales
I’ve observed my hydrangeas this season. Watching them bloom and die. Notoriously delicate, withstanding nonetheless; which should be a lesson to all. Delicacy is beautiful, but such fragility contains its own strength. They change with the season. There are few flowers holding onto summer’s warmth. Leaves once green, now red. Petals once soft, now shriveled. In death, there’s beauty. Their death isn’t sad; they’ll return next season. Then, I can watch them again. Sprout, bloom, stand proudly. Morning dew collects; dries with the sun. Bees pollinate. Wind blows. Water hydrates. For a while, they’ll stand proudly. Then, they will die.
