Their week to shine.

In my deep shade garden, the beginning of summer almost seems like an ending. The Dutchman's breeches are long gone; so are the primulas and bleeding hearts and bergenias. I deadheaded the last of the rhododendrons last week. The columbine is still holding on to its last two small flowers, but they're fading.

And the hydrangea is barely starting to get some blue around the edges. The garden rests for a spell. Except for the hanging baskets -bacopas, nasturtiums, begonias and lobelias, (and those are cheating, because I bought the plants already thriving this spring) - the perennial part of the garden is a study in greens, nice to look at, but a bit uninspiring.

And then the astilbes burst into glorious flower; so very welcome! It's been windy, and the feathery spikes wave enthusiastically, calling pollinators, "Here we are, come, come! Soup's on!"

Almost red. This is a smaller plant, with only one spike this year, but the colour makes up for it.

And there's a large clump of these, tall and mobile, swaying together to inaudible music. Two days ago, they were all a greenish white; now the tiny flower heads are opening.