by Bernadette van Duyvendyk
cold, saturated night air
sparks a sharp, icy breath of hoarfrost
tiny, delicate crystals, stitched and sifted together
gather lightly on our garden greens
rapidly radiating life below
bursting and draining its life force
in the early light of dawn, I go to the garden
my frosted breath following me
the morning glories are the first to greet me sadly
dark and deflated
languishing limp on the garden fence
inside the golden marigolds are blackened; the zinnias zapped
squash and zucchini leaves lie shriveled into shadows
fronds of cosmos ferns hang dehydrated and drooping
but, nasturtiums yet in bloom, and prized peppers
are strategically covered
for Thanksgiving dinner
in the yard, the warm morning sun extends
its long arms between the shadows of the trees
melting crisp, white sheets of hoarfrost
into long, beautiful, wooly-looking, blue-green bands
bordered by delicate swathes
of glistening, green grass
a summer of generous growth
has ground to a halt with a stroke of grace
a blow of mercy
the cold, raw turn of time
brings a sigh of relief, peace, acceptance,
a call to the dormant depths of hibernation
