'The Gathering'

Every summer, the hydrangeas hold court. Not because they are the brightest flowers in the garden, nor the rarest, but because they understand something the others do not. Beauty can be multiplied. One blossom alone is lovely. A hundred blossoms together become weather. So throughout the season they gather. One tiny floret after another. Each bringing its own shade of ivory, blush, lavender, rose, cream, and faded parchment. No single flower dominates. No single voice leads. Together they become something larger than any one of them can imagine. A cloud. A constellation. A living mosaic.