The summer has made all the difference.
The long, hot, dry brutal days
are still burned in the memory,
on the land.
So when mild weather —
merely warm, still, clear, sunny days,
and a couple of rainy days —
came,
we fell in love.
And perhaps we forgot
that there would be a frost.
As is typical now,
there were no almost-frosts;
weather doesn’t seem to happen that way
anymore.
It changes drastically.
And so, the first frost came fully,
exactly as predicted.
It was 28 degrees here at dawn
and the land sparkled
as Earth rolled over
and the sun appeared.
A thin but solid layer of white
covers only-recently-greened grass,
tomato plants only-lately with blossoms
and fruit;
on dry land,
below stressed trees.
The summer has made all the difference:
the memory of it,
the effects of it
give meaning
to this year’s first frost.
We know
better than we’ve ever known before
that we can’t alter the weather.
We don’t resist,
don’t wish otherwise.
We simply pay attention.
We greet what comes,
honor it,
as we learn
how to work with it.
Good morning
lovely frost.