They lasted almost till Thanksgiving, but last night finished them off. I’m talking about the summer flowers, the impatiens I transplanted after a deer took them down and the begonias that took their place. 

I snapped a photo of these plants the other night, after I realized how cold it would be. I may have snapped a shot of them earlier, but I was taking no chances. I wanted to preserve their bounty in some way. 

Surely the begonias by the front door were princes of plants, their lift and height, their regal presence. And another begonia on the deck, the one pictured above, already wilting a bit, was resplendent in its youth, a gift from a green-thumbed friend, which  apparently imbibed some of her plant goodness at the start.

Annuals are the victims of seasonal change. They lack the immortality of the perennial. For that reason, they draw our attention to the fleetingness of life. And for that reason, among others, I honor them.