The nights are cool enough that we keep our windows open now and wake up cuddled close under the covers. It’s so dry in Alabama that few trees are turning pretty colors; instead, leaves are drying and falling without that breath-taking and beautiful in-between time. Perhaps that’s why I find something so gallant and brave in the way the roses in my garden have gathered up strength, cool breezes and sunshine to have one last glorious flowering. I have always loved the starkness of the grey and stripped landscape of winter. This year, though, I find myself giving thanks because the roses have made one last, audacious stand against the passing of the growing season, lest we forget, in the bleaker months ahead, that there will come new days of color and glory.