Transition

Day 345: For the last three mornings, Jack Frost's touch has been in evidence in my yard. To put it in the modern vernacular, I am so not ready for this! The furnace has been rumbling and grumbling, the cats are bedded down on blankets instead of windowsills, and the garden plants have gone all tatty and pale. Two tomatoes were my reward for a summer's tender care, those and a flush of color which seemed to come all at once following a cold, wet June. The frost is on the blackberry now, the grass crisp underfoot, and the irony is that in a final gasp of summer, today's expected high is 87°.