Some leaves hang late, some fallbefore the first frost--so goesthe tale of winter branches and old bones.

It was a black and white day of frost, which crawled along the dark trees and outlined twig and branch. The air was misty, and distant objects assumed a mysterious importance. Slight sounds, too, suggested infinite activities to the mind.

("A Tribute Of Souls")

On the day the tree bloomed in the fall, when its white apple blossoms fell and covered the ground like snow, it was tradition for the Waverleys to gather in the garden like survivors of some great catastrophe, hugging one another, laughing as they touched faces and arms, making sure they were all okay, grateful to have gotten through it.

It looked like the world was covered in a cobbler crust of brown sugar and cinnamon.

If we get frost once the flower's there, there's not much that can be done unless you use leaves or an old newspaper to cover them.

Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?