I almost killed my hydrangeas pruning them this year.
Not on purpose, you understand, it's just that I must have been a bit overzealous or something.
Last spring when the skies were a gorgeous shade of cerulean I took a break to walk around the garden admiring the leaves and blossoms. Imagine my dismay when I noticed the hydrangeas looking decidedly barren of the usual verdant glossy leaves.
"Shoot, this time I've gone too far."
" Who are you talking to?" Russell wants to know.
A few months ago I'd butchered the bushes with the pruning shears, now here I was talking to myself out loud.
"I wrecked the hydrangeas," I tell him.
"Oh, Sharyn, they'll grow back," he says. "You worry too much."
He knows me rather well. They have grown back and I do worry too much.
The days have flown past, with me running along like a video on fast-forward.
Here we are at the height of summer and yesterday when doing the botanical ramble again, I had to admit he's right. Just look at those blossoms.
I stood there for about ten minutes admiring the blue that dips to a pale cream. My neighbor must have wondered why I was standing in the front yard grinning as if I'd just won the lottery and snapping way more photos than necessary.
But how could I not?
Truly we are surrounded by miracles.
