Old Man Winter came in the night and murdered Spring in her crib.
A morning ago the world was green, and the air was filled with daffodil perfume and birdsong. Today snow shrouds the frozen blossoms and prowls, ghostly, in the streets. Tulips, iris, daylilies, hostas, hyacinth ... all are toppled and still.
First frost in autumn is bittersweet. There is a rightness in the dying down of the year, in the natural order of things made of earth, returning to earth when life is complete. But this? This is pure sorrow.