Yesterday afternoon, I picked and ate a ripe cherry tomato from my garden. For those who shuddered at my report of an early snowstorm two weeks ago, the real news here is the unprecedented lateness of a frost. Those white shooting-stars that were bent down by the snow? They’ve put out new blossoms.

It’s hard what to know what to make of it all, but this much I can tell you: the tomato was delicious.

Deep in the weeds,
the wrong shade of red for autumn:
last ripe tomato.

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