It’s November. It’s getting dark. Back home there are a few sprawling Johnny Jump-Ups still peeking their tiny yellow and violet faces from the garden bed, and the sunburst of a couple Black-eyed Susans still holding on. But here there are flowers spilling over wrought iron fences, climbing trellises, clumping along the edge of the sidewalk and covering bushes in yard after yard. Thinking about the long, flowerless season I’m heading into at home, I’m charmed. Yes, this is a beautiful city.