Autumn always seems to sneak up on me. Yesterday was the first cold day. I was bold enough to renege on my coat, only to find that I desperately wanted needed it later. It was more the wind, I think. The kind that cuts through and through.
I worried about my tomatoes.
It’s odd that I should call them mine. They appeared in my yard without announcement or invitation, for that matter. That is, I didn’t plant them. They had never appeared there before. But suddenly after weeks of summer rains, I found them sprouted by the hose.
Roma, even. Strange, but tasty.
I went out to scavenge another dozen tomatoes today before a frost. My dog is suspicious. I feel obligated to water them now and even thought about how I could save them a little while longer. Put a blanket on or re-pot them indoors. More likely than not, they would not be back next year. I have no intention of making them my intention. That is, I don’t suppose I will plant purposely in the spring. I don’t know anything about tomatoes. I only know about autumn. And she’s back.
