It’s the end of the gardening season. “Or is it?” she thought to herself. As she took thoughtful steps through the dried weeds and uneven clumps of earth, memories floated back to her mind. Late March…. spading the sweet smelling dirt to expose it to the sun’s warmth, later in April…. lost in reverie down on her knees, setting small hopeful plants into their loamy, wormy new home, June….simply sitting among the growing tomatoes gazing up at the sky and acrobatic dragonflies, July….. faithfully carrying pails of water to thirsty beans and cosmos, then August…. the harvest, baskets of pickling cucumbers, sprigs of intoxicating basil and rosemary, the taste of the sun in homemade pasta sauce, and now…. bouquets of the last sweet zinnias on the dining room table, gardening season lives on, in lovely memories of the mind.