November is my favorite month: scruffy, five o'clock-shadowy, open-skied and wind-blasted,. No one apostrophises it (--or do they? Has anyone?--there is a poetic research project for you, Margaret), but O! November, you are the best month for walking and crow watching! Here, Wingy's feral cousin emerges from the shade of the butterfly bushes.
--and what must be absolutely the last rose--a windblown Buff Beauty.
November lettuce--tucked in at night with old bedsheets against the frost.
a close-up of Florina--still green. Apple leaves do not behave like pear leaves, which turn chocolate-color and curl into little cylinders--botanical Madeleines. I used to love that, in Michigan. maybe it is too warm here...
This is a Monticello snowberry bush. In the summer, it has pastel golden-green leaves and looks fey, astral and out-of-place; so much more arresting in November, after frost has banished its leaves and tarnished its stems.