First
Frost
We
had our first frost warning last night. While the field behind my house was
misty and very autumn-like this morning, I think those of us near Lake Michigan
may have escaped Jack Frost’s icy touch. Hearing the forecast yesterday, I made
my yearly trudge into the backyard to gather in the hanging flower baskets and
potted plants that I watered and repotted and tended to all summer. I grouped
them together on the patio, up close to the house, and gently covered them with
old pillowcases and towels. Then I rescued the flower box from the front yard
and gave it the same attention. I know, I know. I’m only putting off the
inevitable. They’ll have to go eventually. There’s no way to keep them alive
through the winter. But they’re still blooming, as if oblivious of what’s to
come, and I’m not quite ready to let them go yet. Rather like letting go of our
children, we’re never quite ready. Rather like the finished book that needs to
go out into the world, I’m not quite ready to set it free. So in spite of
knowing the time is coming soon for the flowers, today wasn’t the day.
Bringing
the flowers together last night made me think of a poem that’s always been a
favorite. It’s one that’s a little bittersweet, a little melancholy, but it
fits this time of year so well.
Nature’s
first green is gold,
Her
hardest hue to hold.
Her
early leaf’s a flower;
But
only so an hour.
Then
leaf subsides to leaf.
So
Eden sank to grief,
So
dawn goes down to day,
Nothing
gold can stay.
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Robert Frost
