Roedd neithiwr yn noswaith oer arall. Y bore 'ma roedd rhew trwm ym mbobman - ar fyn nhryc, ar y glaswellt, a'r blodau. Roedd ia trwchus ar y bath adar am yr ail tro.
Pan cyrraeddes i gartref ddoe, roedd y planhigion tomatoes wedi marw. Bydd rhaid i mi eu tynnu nhw penwythnos nesaf. Roedd popeth yn y "cold-frame" a dan y blastig yn iawn.
Dw i wedi bod yn meddwl, fel gwnaf i ambell waith, sut roedd yr hydref i pobl yn yr oesoedd canol. Buodd yr haf wedi mynd, gan ei frwythiau a'i tywedd braf, a buodd y gaeaf yn dod yn fuan - amser tywyll, oer, a chaled. Roedd yr hydref yr cyfle olaf dathlu - pen draw yr hanner golau y flwyddyn.
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Last night was another cold night. This morning there was heavy frost everywhere - on my truck, on the grass, and on the flowers. There was thick ice on the birdbath for the second time. When I came home yesterday, the tomato plants were dead. I'll have to pull them up next weekend. Everything in the cold-frame and under the plastic was fine.
I have been thinking, as I do sometimes, how autumn was for people in the middle ages. Summer was gone, with its fruits and its fine weather, and winter was coming soon - a dark, cold and hard time. The autumn was the last opportunity to celebrate - the end of the light half of the year.
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