Asters, autumn, and a Frost poem...

Those tiny little purple asters-- they are so hardy! They grow right next to goldenrod, so the colors are just popping. 

It's autumn. I'm okay with it now. I picked a ton more tomatoes (and there's more out there), and the butternuts are doing as best they can. The carrots are still in the ground-- I have slim hope of a week or two more before I have to rip it all up. 

Here's a favorite poem...and please, have a super day. 

C



A Late Walk

When I go up through the mowing field,
     The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
     Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
     The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
     Is sadder than any words.

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
     But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
     Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
     By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
     To carry again to you.

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