T.S. Eliot said April is the cruelest month, but no--November has it, hands down. The leaves are gone, the sky is gray, there's no snow, no sun. It's cold-but not frigid enough to be exhilarating. It's just kind of grim. Like the skies today. So when I look out the window, I tend to daydream, and my thoughts often carry me off to tropical places with vibrant, bright colors, the hues that inspire me in the garden. Mostly today I'm dreaming in the hottest of hot colors: vivid reds and oranges, maybe soothed by cool blues, colors that stand up to the sun--which is surely shining somewhere.