Pleated Blossoms

As a little girl, I always found my Mother's handmade Sunday dresses too frou-frou: pleated and embroidered, they escaped my appreciation.
When I look at my great-nieces now in the same kinds of dresses, I cannot help love their fashion as well as them. What goes around comes back sometimes in different form and with different responses.
And so it is with spring pleats, the wrinkling blossoms, shadowing themselves as they reach for the sky. My own mother, a master seamstress, could not have imagined them more beautiful.