Here in the lovely autumn of the Appalachians, the sun streamed through the abundance of multicolored leaves still clinging to the trees. It was a day when I was compelled to take that last walk, look at my marigolds and asters one more time. The were so beautiful, it seemed that they were at their very peak.
But, I had read the weather forecast in the newspaper. The first frost was expected tonight. In the morning, the ground would be white with the first ice of winter, flowers would have that dark color, death awaiting the sun’s first glimmer, and that being their last. Winter.