Before the First Frost

Before the First Frost

This first week in October still carries one-hundred-degree temperatures.
It is hard to focus on an upcoming first frost.
When it does, the leaves off the Ash tree will be gone, what few are
left from its dying, withering branches. Description says its lifetime
is thirty years, this poor thing is pushing thirty-five. For the last five years,
saw, cut, break the dying branches off, ones I can reach by standing on the
ground, others by tall ladders.

When it buds each spring, the leaves are babyish, delicate,
lime sage green that shines in the morning sun. Slowly as
summer arrives, I let the water hose run around the base for hours
on end helping to keep it alive longer. Leaves mature and brown at the
tips, then turn dry, ugly and fall.

Before the first frost, most leaves will be raked, bagged and carried away.
The barren branches are beautiful against the twilight and moon glow.
Our cats have climbed on most of the outstretched branches, birds have nested
and slept. It shades the grill on hot summer days, causes diamond shaped
{lickers through my studio window as I read.

Before the next year's first frost, I may write a new poem in
remembrance of our little Ash.