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  • This morning I needed flowers. Good luck with that in Pennsylvania in February.

    But at the Arboretum stood last year's hydrangeas, wind and rain nipped, weather-beaten to a tea-dyed white: a gathering of old ladies gossiping in an empty coffeeshop, their white heads bobbing at each other past steam and foam.

    They've become real -- the veining in the petals, a few white florets resisting time.

    I'm an old lady now, too, but my heart feels young.

    Leilani, your roses made me dream.
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