Asters That Seemed An End

I remember the feeling that I was walking through the very last days of warmth and light when I came upon a field full of New England asters. It was later afternoon, and I was slow in my movements as I took a picture to share.

Now, in the winter, as politicians make lists of preachers who promise an easy escape from death, the darkness has never been broader upon the clock. Yet, winter has failed to arrive. The grass remains green, and moss glows verdantly in the damp unfrosted woods.

What seemed to be the end was just another part of the way I walked then and walk to this day.