The basil bed is fresh and cool, its leaves new-bathed with invisible Autumn. I pick a sprig for my morning eggs, and wonder how long this pleasure will last - how long the frost will tarry, and spare to us the herbs of summer.
In the warm indoors, Autumn condenses into visible moisture on the green, green leaves.
The sun breaks through the mist and floods the room with gold.
The eggs and basil are delicious.
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