Last October Eves
I was out in the back yard early this evening. I watched as the light fled from the approaching dusk, and felt the temperature drop so swiftly that it startled me. One moment I was eating blood-red raspberries from the canes rescued from an abandoned lot, and the next I was staring at my misty breath hanging in the air. I noticed that, not too far from the still-producing raspberries, the rhubarb has died off. The impossible to kill plant is one of the first to return in the early spring, but I'm in awe of how completely dead it looks now. Not an ounce of life appears to remain in its withered leaves that are already prostrate on the earth, preparing to become a part of it again. Across the yard, the sunflowers still follow the short and swift path of the sun, blooming as if they had all the time in the world. The chickweed looks better than it has all summer. The yarrow is bright and bushy again, growing a second crop of fuzzy leaves, while the skullcap has long dropped its f