We came back from a weekend in Toronto, and fall had arrived in the garden. The little wild asters are blooming, sprays of white sparkles. The sunflowers hang their heads heavily, as if mourning this day.
Yesterday I woke to rain, bleak and drear. Today it was cold. Took great effort to drag out of the cozy bed, and into the day.
Soon to come the long dark nights of winter.
Today is golden apples scattered across a shaggy lawn. Today is burnt red virginia creeper on weathered lattice, dipping in a cold wind. Today is holding on with both hands, grabbing at the last remnants of warmth and wrapping it in words around my self.