I stalked the last of the zinnias, the few that survived the first frost. Some had been blown closer to the ground in the rain storm. Others that withstood it caught shelter somehow. Although most were burnt brown or faded of their once bright cheer just a few still blossomed: one stunning scarlet, one burning orange, one petulant pink and three shining yellow just half-bloomed. Still more of fading pinks and oranges, fushia and cream - those without bruised petals or curling brown tips. Just enough to fill one small square vase and grace the northern light through my kitchen window.