The maple leaves that blew into the herb garden are
covered with snow this morning.
Still, the snapdragons bloom despite the chill,
and the last few roses cling to the vine,
reluctant to let go of the bountiful season.
It was the most beautiful autumn I can remember.
The water hoses are stored away,
the garden "tucked in" for the winter,
and we walk more briskly now,
head down, shoulders braced against the wind.
Mabel thinks it is too cold.
"Let's go in," she asks with a pleading glance.
Where ever you are, whatever the weather, I wish you joy.