"hydrangea seasons...."

they grew around the fieldstone foundation
of the farmhouse...in every shade from snowy
white to the deepest purple with soft mauvey
pinks and aquas in between...

in march, they were like a promise held in a tightly
fisted hand, small as the early spring hail pelting the
red metal of the barn roof, and turning our mother
into a madwoman who rushed into the garden
with sheets and towels covering tiny plants
she had grown from seed, on the wide stone
windowsills, deep enough to capture sun's warmth
in winter

by april they were like pale green dandelion seeds under
a magnifying glass...almost hidden in the dark green
leaves that grew as large as a giant's hands....

by june we knew, which would bloom in soft hues of
pink and cream, blues and aquas, cobalt and a purple
as rich as a king's coverlet on the royal bed...

we'd cut them in july and august...armloads of heavy headed
blossoms to place in mason jars, and pitchers, and once in the
umbrella stand their long thick stems searching for water,
their droopy necks resting on the rim, peering over edge
like tired children along a fence rail...

in september they'd move to baskets or hang from rafters
where they would dry to muted shades of autumn....
another hydrangea season come and gone...