Something is very bittersweet about the first frost. The end of the growing season is coming, ushered in by the cold rime of a billion shiny points of frozen water, harbinger of the coming halt of verdant life.
Life becomes slower. Things fall asleep, dreaming under a blanket of white about the coming rebirth of springtime.
We cozy up in warm socks with cups of tea and books in hand (ok, parents of little ones actually DON’T do this but one can dream, can one not?), or sketching next year’s plots, perusing seed catalogs, adding up totals, reluctantly scratching off the Black Pearl Ornamental pepper, one packet for $4.95, and put in instead the prairie grass ($2.75) for the wild corner, and weigh and consider and in our heads the profusion of flowers and vegetables that will adorn our gardens next year (except NOT, because it NEVER turns out as good in reality as it was in your head. chalk one more thing up to experience. try again NEXT year. AGAIN.) unfold and flourish.
End and beginning.