Sometimes it’s peaches. Or iris. Sometimes it’s peonies or daylilies or artichokes. Two years ago today, on July 27, 2022, it was the waterfront hydrangeas.
Like fresh fallen snow mounded by wind and nature’s levity, or frosting crowning some cartoonish confection, vanilla and sugar defying gravity, or cumulonimbus on parade, or dollops of freshly slightly over whipped cream splattered across the green granite countertops in Rosslyn’s kitchen,…
The bank of white hydrangeas overflowing the second terrace of Rosslyn’s waterfront is transformed in the early hours of morning. First bathed in buttery sunlight, the hydrangeas glow warm butterscotch, caramel, and cinnamon. As the sun climbs higher, rising up out of the Green Mountains and into the blue dome above, the color palette evolves, and the hues skew cooler. Hydrangea blooms lose any trace of yellow, orange, or brown that they exhibited mere minutes before. Now they’re as white as the driven snow.
This summer, the waterfront hydrangeas are once again breathtaking. They usually are. But that moment on the morning of July 27, 2022, they were transcendent. Twice. Warm welcome as the sun unrested, and then a crisp, cool clarion call to awaken and thrive as the sun rose skyward as midsummer morning made way for midsummer day.
What do you think?