Not quite yet, but very soon. We are now, on the 20th, a little overdue for a killing frost. So this afternoon, with heavy heart, I went out and picked what might be the last of summer's bounty. Squash, tomatoes, and peppers are still producing, but the end is nigh. Nothing quite punctuates the end of summer like that first freeze and the death of the garden.
Long ago Whittier wrote—
The Night is mother of the Day,
The Winter of the Spring,
And ever upon old Decay
The greenest mosses cling.
We can only hope, as we always do from year to year.