And the leaves that are green turn to brown.

I feel bad saying it, because maybe it means I'm no farmer, but when everything unruly in the garden dies back and the trees have lost their leaves and all that's left are the neat rows of carrots and cabbage and salad greens, and everything else is dead all around them, I feel at ease. The wildness of summer is gone, with all its overwhelming greenness, and there's contrast again. I can see what's left to be done, and it isn't everything. That jungly mess of summer, with its sprawling tomatoes and squash, has a way of making everything seem untamed, and I start to long for the tidy brown rows of winter and spring, empty and waiting to be newly planted.