The Withered Garden

The garden, which was simply fabulous in its production this year, is done. One recent evening, with overnight temperatures below freezing, all the leaves died, hanging brown and forlorn come dawn. And last night was another one of those exceptionally cold autumn nights. As I let the dog out this morning, and stood shivering in the open doorway, I couldn't help but think there's a bit of beauty left in the garden with the early morning light adding a transparency to the thin leaves.

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;"
- Ecclesiastes 3:1-2

But herbs are born of heartier stock, for the parsley, chives, and sage live on, despite being covered in frost this morn.

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