There was a night earlier in September when I’m told there was frost. It couldn’t have been significant. Everything around the farmette survived. Even our prickly tomatoes.
Last night it was the real thing. I had a great desire to be up early, camera in hand, running barefoot across fields covered with a white coat of frozen dew. But, in this season, bouncing up and out early is less attractive. I waited under under the quilt, contemplating the seasons and by the time I was outside what horefrost covered the fields surely must have succumbed to the power of a beautiful sunny morning.
But in shady spots, there’s no denying it. We had some pretty lovely crystals of frost.
I did walk the property, leisurely, loving the quiet beginning to the day. And the remaining explosions of color, coming from the crab apples that never seem to fall. The branches will be leafless but the red fruits will still be there.
Nothing in the hours after was as good as this moment of morning light. I worked nonstop until early evening, meeting Ed then at the café, where the proprietors celebrated his past birthday by presenting him with a pickle. Ed loves their New York pickles. It was a thoughtful gesture. The entire café sang Happy Birthday and Ed ignored the whole lot of us while I laughed and laughed.