They are my favorite flower, hydrangeas. I adore them when the petals are a rich, steely blue. I gasp when I happen upon a bouquet painted in pinks ranging from faded to intense. I love single stems of white hydrangeas standing stoicly in a vase, commanding attention in the middle of a huge table. These, smeared with the palest blue and yellow look like summer clouds or, at some angles, a swarm of butterflies. It's dreamy to describe them this way, but isn't how flowers, especially those you choose carefully, pay money for, place carefully around your home where you will wake up or glance away from your screen or rest your eyes and see them?