Though the marigolds put on a brave and brassy show the flower garden is spent, rusty, mildewed, mouldered and sad. As the stalks of echinacea and Eryngium, mullein and veronica become brittle and bent the colorless heap of summer's bounty will be gathered and dumped in the black bin at the corner of the plot. It emerges once again from the screen of tomato vines and dahlia leafage to loom over the detritus of autumn. Furry mold has turned Jack-O-Lantern's grin to a hideous grimace as he lies atop the vegetable carnage, the last too-green tomatoes, and the withered nasturtium vines in this garden grave, this melancholy compost.