i did not ask for this,
i did not want this,
but it came,
born of a suddenly quiet sun plunging temperatures to cold,
it is unwelcome,
my garden is not finished and
my tomatoes have suddenly started to yield.
The flowers on the cucumbers will fall off
and none will be harvested.
i do not worry about cabbage or kale,
nor of most of my herbs,
'cept the basil.
The flowers will be gone soon also;
which were for summer exactly that,
are now ready to wither and go.
At first my cooking suffers also,
grilling and smoking
are not well done in the cold.
As my eyes turn to soups and stews,
my taste buds falter.
I am not ready for this,
The sun, tho,
remains unusually quiet,
for the maximum peak it suppose to be in
and i can do nothing about it.