separating the past from the present
hydrangeas in Mum's front garden - maybe I should have been dead-heading them, but decided to take photos instead. While I was taking them it was just me, the camera, the light and obstructions to overcome with background etc. While processing, my mind was drawn back to their and my and Mum's story.
Memories of how Mum wouldn't allow anyone to deadhead them, because she knew best (even though she hated gardening!) and then, reluctantly as she became more and more disabled she allowed me to cut them, while tut-tutting at my more radical pruning style, but accepting that I must know what I was doing because I went (as a mature student) to horticultural college - not realising that garden designers don't learn how to prune hydrangeas. I only know what to do through experience of pruning them.
And now looking at the photo, here they are, and here I am. Mum is a memory. And it is as it is for now.