The hardy chrysanthemums are reluctantly cut 

 down, for they still display touches of yellow, red, 

 pink and white in the centre, within the brownish 

 edges of the frosted outer petals. The stalks are cut 

 close to the new growth already courageously making 

 haste for the next season. The plants are then 

 mulched with leaves and manure. 



Between labors we sit on the garden bench under 

 the pines where the chickadees come and sass us, 

 while a redheaded woodpecker drums on the tree 

 trunk above our heads. 



The green and white benches, as I've said before, 

 are left out all winter, for why should we not enjoy a 

 peaceful, comfortable hour in the out-of-doors when 

 it is in its most beautiful white, winter stage? 



There are only three months in the year when I 

 cannot gather flowers daily from the garden, and 

 even during those months the garden is still magical 

 in its loveliness because of its bitter-sweet vines 

 gleaming with red berries, the scarlet fruited sumachs, 

 evergreen cedars, pines and hemlocks. The white 

 birch gains in spiritual beauty during its winter bare- 

 ness when frail limbs make a tracery against sunset 

 sky — the last note of poetic suggestion. The pop- 

 lars (not Lombardy, but that variety having silver 



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