Left out in the harshness of winter, this dried hydrangea bloom has acquired a delicate fragile beauty, so different from its robust summer self. There is a certain gentleness about it, a vulnerability. The softness of the beiges and browns against the blue of the snow, the veined petals attached to such brittle spindly stems, all of which engenders a sense of the passing of time, the inevitability of decay, but also of its great beauty.
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