The last flower in the winter garden

I have this memory from childhood, a recurring memory about the first cold snap after August. I'd walk out into my grandparents formerly lush and multi-layered flower bed and there I'd find flowers drying to various shades of watery grey, sepia, dark crunchy brown. Through the visible wisps of my breath in the chilly Tennessee air, I remember there to be one or two last flowers ragged around the edges but still full of color and summer warmth.