Sunday morning. Early October. The topsheet on the bed is as crisp as the air outside, inviting burrowing underneath the suddenly too-light summer duvet. While it's not quite frost season, it's time to cut the garden back, bring in the bougainvillia, fortify the birdfeeders.
I bite into my warm toasted tomato sandwich, mayonnaise and salt mingling with the impossible-to-describe sweet tartness of my tomato treasure. The long winter is ahead and I'm already counting down the days until next August's harvest.