Frost in the Garden

Frost in The Garden

The frost arrives in the moonstone blue twilight of morning.
The shroud of small white crystals cover the garden.
It penetrates the skin of my last pink tomatoes.
Resting on the flesh and bursting cells into translucence.
The shoulders of my bright orange pumpkins are draped with a cape of soft ice,
Hardening their shells for winter storage.
The surface of each green bean leaf is painted with a clear, shiny glaze.
The vines will turn brown by mid-day.
For now, the frosty fog
Fills the cool space around the yellowing trees,
But cannot enter underneath.
For that, a colder freeze must come,
Then autumn’s last colors will surrender to winter‘s dormancy.

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