The morning glories I saw less than
a month ago can’t be flowering now,
more snow than expected yesterday,
and several nights of heavy frost the past
few weeks, but vines may still twine
the standing corn, field corn yet to be
harvested, early snow be damned. If
the farmer wasn’t ready for this, neither
was I, and it must melt, bare the ground,
or chores necessary before winter won’t
be done, consequences to come. When I
last saw those white, trumpet-shaped
flowers, I failed to see this coming. It was
autumn, and would be autumn for quite
some time, I thought. I didn’t think to gather
blooms to dry, or heart-shaped leaves to
remember them by, though I do think when
I was a child I did that, and winter waited, too.