Those two words shouldn’t go together. November is rain and wind and dark skies. Leaves have fallen, bare stalks mark the perennials in the garden beds. Yet at my front door, a memory of summer refuses to acknowledge the arrival of fall.
This is the weather past my front door. In the past I would have chrysanthemums, or ornamental kale, planted by the front door. But who am I to tell this scrappy Hibiscus that it is supposed to flower in the summer months? Who am I to tell it that it is most certainly not a November flower? Fight on, little plant. Be a ray of brightness in my day.