We ate the last of the sweet corn that I froze last fall.
As I picked out some corn silk, I remembered the fall day that the farmer delivered the three dozen ears. They were the last corn ears of summer.
As I ate it last evening, I remembered the many 90 degree days of summer, the cracked earth, the days that lasted forever. I remembered the bugs, the sweat, the wondering if the earth would ever be soft again.
That corn, though frozen for months, tasted just as sweet last night as if I were eating it from the cob.