A bright weekend day in mid-October doesn’t happen so often in Vancouver that you can ignore it. So I took my little daughter out for a bike ride; as in, she rode, I walked along with my camera in one hand, the other ready for a quick grab for when she teetered. The remaining flowers are in harbinger-of-winter mode, but still worth looking at.
I used to call these “California poppies”. My readers informed me sharply that they were actually Iceland poppies, but Alex Waterhouse-Hayward, who is authoritative on these issues, apparently settled the issue; they’re Welsh poppies. Anyhow, most of ’em are dead and gone; but not this one.
Not sure what these are, or I guess I should say were.
This is some sort of honeysuckle; Lauren has a couple of different ones and I can’t keep ’em straight.
This is a fuschia, which astounds me every year by blooming until it gets buried in snow or taken down by a major windstorm or whatever.
They’re not all totally 100% gloomy in their feel, though.
I’m remembering Brother North-Wind’s Secret.