Here’s Claire’s thoughts on the threat of frost tonight.
The summer labor, under the burning sun
beating down, warming and browning our shoulders and the land
has nearly come to an end.
The tediousness of an extravagant crop,
all summer plucking the fruits from the vines
again and again,
to the point of insanity
where you honestly want to set the luscious fruitful gardens ablaze
and stand and relish the leaping flames devouring your precious
but exhausted plants.
But then the cold comes,
a bitter chill, and then they seem more precious. Out
to pick more of the never-ending supply before the crop is wiped out by winter winds.
Out to pick the fruits
Â Â Â Â Out to cover the pumpkins
Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Out to harvest the last bits
of the garden that you thought you despised – for its bounty
but found in reality, you love.