By Jenna Rozelle
It’s gonna be a cold one tonight.
First hard frost of the year.
Maybe the whitetail will be up and moving into the morning sun
renewed by the chill
but green leaves and soft petals will fall.
I sat in my garden through last light
fawning and farewelling
saying my sorrys and thanks.
Chance doesn’t have a memory
but I do.
I know what work was done
and when I slept in.
I remember
the excitement of spring and seed sowing
like it’s tomorrow
because it is.
I remember
the not-caring and foot-dragging of late July,
the neglect and blind eye of August,
the bittersweet frenzy of September.
I resign to October
and hope that relief and regret can live together
while I watch this whole thing wilt
and remember how well I’m fed despite myself.
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