Dried Brown Mums

Even in death,

The freshly fallen snow

Gives the garden

The appearance of life.

The contrast of pure white

Against the dried brown mums

And their long gone flowered tops

Look alive in the night’s darkness.

They sway in the breeze of the cold

And seem to dance in moonlight.

Their rustling whispers talk to me

“Remember our vibrant colors of Fall?”

I see the Fall garden in my mind

The mix of greens, crimsons, yellows,

Oranges, blues and purples.

The aroma, a blend that tickled your nose.

Though Winter is my favorite season

I am excited for the return of Spring

And the feel of my fingers working the dirt

To create a new pallet of colors.