Apart from the pleasures of gardening, November has beauty of its own. The Saxons called it wind-month, for then the fishermen drew up their boats and abandoned fishing till the spring. It was called the slaughter-month, too, when pigs and cattle were salted down for preservation throughout the winter.
It always seemed to me that the herbaceous peony is the very epitome of June.
April, the angel of the months, the young love of the year.
