When I went out to my car for an early morning meeting, running late as usual, I was delayed even further by the unexpected task of having to scrape frost off my car windows. The lush, mown lawns in my neighborhood bore a pale sheen of frost, and the morning air felt frigid to my thin skin. Thankfully, I'd brought my geranium in the night before. Friends are scrambling to harvest one last round of vegetables, as another freeze is due tonight. And still the leaves remain on the trees, green, barely touched by color. They must know something we don't. I'm ready to haul out my Uggs and call it winter, but then I hear rumors that this weekend it's supposed to get back up into the 70s. Ah, the joys of living in Maine amid its vagaries of weather.
Before sunrise, frost--
but not yet on the pumpkin
freshly picked, uncarved.
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