I've just edited and sent off a column which I wrote this morning—a piece on November. I know I'm in the minority here, but I love November, counting it among my favorite months. And no, I don't expect my column will sway many hearts.
Between the writing and the sending I made a brief trip, driving a few miles to the village where Myladylove works. She's shorthanded on employees today and couldn't get out for lunch, so I took her a sandwich and soft drink which I purchased along the way. After that I stopped at the grocery for a few things before returning home.
The photo above was taken just up the road—snapped between wiper swipes through the truck's windshield via my iPhone. As you can see, it's raining here—a damp, dim day, but at 60˚F, quite mild for the season. Some color remains; a fair bit of green, too, though a lot of that is, alas, honeysuckle. Moreover, what you see is about as good as it ever got this year—golds and yellows and rusty-browns, a few oranges, and even fewer reds. Not as spectacular as usual, but still pretty.
My yard is awash in sycamore leaves, some the size of dinner plates. A few are still clinging to the trees. I'll probably wait to start raking.