Late fall’s snowy mantle shrouds the last remnant of tenacious green plants in the garden. Amazingly, a green-as-summer snapdragon grows under a garden step, peeking out from the shelter there. Its posture seems to say the plant is tentatively testing the elements and it doesn’t like what it has found. If it had feet, the poor thing most definitely would up and move to greater refuge elsewhere in the world.

Though one must look more deeply, there is much beauty left in the garden. It may not be in the form of lush greenery or showy blooms. It may be tiny icy particles clinging to an assortment of forgotten leaves and stems. It may be the way the diminished sunlight of autumn glances off those bits of crystal. Or perhaps the beauty comes from the mind’s embellishment of reality, a reminiscence of the beauty of summer.

Anyone would have guessed that the shiny emerald leaves of the monkshood were to resist the elements forever, but of course in the end the plant did succumb. All things considered, monkshood is a glorious plant from the moment the perfect green leaves begin to poke through the soil in spring. Unassumingly, they burst through the earth with sturdy but understated stems. Suddenly the lobed leaves unfurl in a perfect spread of lush foliage. Protected by a bit of shade, through the heat and trials of summer, the verdant leaves prevail. Through pelting rain. Through unbearable heat. Above any naughty, wayward weed that might consider homing in on monkshood’s corner of the garden. The plant thrives, unrestrained by damaging effects of pests. (Perhaps its exceptional toxicity wards off even the smallest life forms.)

Suddenly, when the season seems at end and many plants have passed their period of greenness, monkshood sends up the most breathtaking stalks of tiny blue “hoods.” As the plant’s name foretells, each flower resembles the hood of a monk, and is borne along the upright stem in a fashion that makes it easy for the gardener to imagine each cap resting on the head of a somber and grateful monk.

In another part of the garden, bushy sage plants grow. Their semievergreen gray-green leaves are the most resistant of garden plants to give up the liveliness of summer. One 6-year-old plant grew to nearly 4 feet in diameter until this gardener decided on one sultry summer day that the plant desperately needed a “haircut.” The dear plant withstood the tempest of the “pruning,” forming the prettiest rounded mound of foliage. Its thick, woody stems will endure the travails of winter, bursting forth with broad, hairy leaves in spring.

On the southeast side of the house, the tiny rounded leaves of ‘Lady’ lavender seem to be shut down to life’s difficulties, yet the thick blue-green foliage still emits a strong fragrance when crushed. The same plants that seemed crowded over the summer now appear to huddle together, their fine branches interlaced, their twiggy growth poking up a few inches above the newly formed snow line.

Like those of us tuned to cues of our environment, these plants seem to strike a submissive posture to nature. Has it really begun, or is this wintry display just a tease?

Diana George Chapin is the NEWS garden columnist. Send horticulture questions to Gardening Questions, 512 North Ridge Road, Montville 04941, or e-mail them to dianagc@midcoast.com. Selected questions will be answered in future columns. Include name, address and telephone number.