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eczekalski

Poem: Frost at the Dahlia Farm (by me)

eczekalski
7 years ago

Translucent petals were my first clue, fine brown veins in the bright yellow blossoms, losing their opacity, delineating their physiology like the veins and muscles that show more clearly as I age.

Before my eyes in the morning sun, the leaves turned deeper green and then blue-black, collapsing. They will soon be brown and then the hollow stalks, brown too, will show.

The season is so short, it comforts me that this is not the end. The plants are sending messages to their tubers: we’ve done everything we can; you know everything we know, everything we are.

It’s up to you, now. Carry on.

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