It had to happen.
On this morning, the flowers are more brilliant than before. Brittle frosted petals, leaves, buds. Deepened color in the autumn garden, a medieval sketch of high linear detail, a confection of final color — red, blue, yellow, green, orange. No feature missed. Paused in perfection, flowers held taut in icy fingers.
With the day, the frost relents, the flowers sag to brown mush. A slow exhalation of the garden into the coming season. Until next year.
Shouldn't...but Do 
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