They waited weeks before separating,
until after the first frost.
And in that time nothing much happened,
except the air was unusually still,
and for a few short days at least
there was a late flourish of summer
in which the garden looked lovelier than ever.
Then all of a rush they were gone.
‘Beautiful!’ She said on second viewing.
The agent checked his phone.
‘Like an old postcard,’ she said,
carefully closing the gate behind her.
‘Strange, but I didn’t really notice it before.’
She turned to take a last look.
A sudden gust blew up from somewhere,
causing the few remaining petals
on a single white rose
to drop, like snowflakes,
on the ground below.
‘I’ll take it,’ she said.