Generally, I’m not a huge fan of hydrangeas. With their pom poms of flowers, they remind me too much of cotton candy and other pastel concoctions. But I like the way this hydrangea bush owns its corner, highlighting the richness of the old red brick and metal bannister with contrasting paleness. I like the way the bush overflows its corner and cascades along the stairs, sending almost a waterfull of puff balls against the straight lines of the row house, the ephemeral overtaking the solid, the lavish balls of flowers bursting forth from a corner of what is a very small front yard of a modest row house, as if to say, you can never have too much hydrangea.
Also, in this photo, I love the way the glass storm door reflects the turret of the row house across the street. The details up high on these early 20th century small houses still celebrate their existence almost one hundred years after they were built, still demand that passersby notice the sky. And to see it here reflected in the door of the house across the street–a house that happens to have a particularly effervescent hydrangea–underscores the urban interplay of what is there in front of you with everything else that has been built or exists all around.