Dehydrated Hydrangea.

At Bramasole, the first secret spot that draws me outside is a stump and board bench on a high terrace overlooking the land and valley. Before I sit down, I must bang the board against a tree to knock off all the ants. Then I'm happy. With a stunted oak tree for shelter and a never-ending view, I am hidden. No one knows where I am. The nine-year-old's thrill of the hideout under the hydrangea comes back: My mother is calling me and I am not answering.

-- Frances Mayes


Today the air felt heavy, I think maybe rain is coming. Although the sky was blue, the outside didn't look inviting from my window.

I only ventured out to find some blip inspiration. At the bottom of my parents garden, there is a small waterfall and a stream that runs down to the Holy Loch. I found this hydrangea plant there, delicate, fragile, and flickering in the wind. This piece broke off as I jumped across the stream. I like all the detail in the 'skeleton' of the once-blue petals. I think it looks like a tiny tree, stuck in the ground like this.

Funnily enough, as in the quote, my mum was calling on me, but I couldn't hear her from outside and I hadn't told her where I was going. I'm glad she didn't come and find me though. I must've looked like a right plonker crouching in the moss and grass, trying to get the hydrangea in focus. Good job I'm hiding out in the countryside, no one to spot me here!

The petals look lovely close-up