Youth—Age

The Hydrangea in its glory and (at least temporary) old age. Same being. All that’s changed is time. Picture Picture. I showed the glory last June 25. Now a couple of close-ups:

One of the observations I have made for many years now is that the old are not even seen—which causes me to have to exert special efforts even to comb my hair before I go shopping—and I might get past the sunroom door like that were it not for Brigitte’s eagle eyes; they still see me, alas. But our noble hydrangea even draws the eye in its wintry garb. It drew my eyes this morning as the rain began to dribble sullenly on our back yard.