At breakfast, my daughter mentioned a frost warning.
What? I thought. Already?
At the post office later that day, I chatted with an acquaintance who was at the counter buying stamps, his tiny dog tucked under his arm. He said, Why is frost always such a shock every year?
My girl and I picked the remainder of the tomatoes and peppers, covered what seemed like it should be covered. At the end, I tossed an old sheet over a patch of my zinnias. Really? she asked. You’re covering flowers?
But they’ve given me such pleasure, I said, even autumn-ragged as they are now.
The frost passed us over. A few more days of summer here.
The autumn grass
Wilts at once.
Playing with it.