A Rose in November

Please forgive the blurry picture. It was early.

Living in this country is an amazing privilege, isn't it? 

Tuesday's election has caused about as much anguish in Kansas as any I can remember. We Sunflower Staters were deeply divided, and I've never seen so much dirt being flung. Nearly all of the races that counted were close so about half of the voters were terribly sad on Wednesday morning.

But as I made my cool-down lap around the block after my pre-dawn exercise bike time, I noticed this remarkable sight: Growing out of the honeysuckle bush that's diagonally across the block from the House on the Corner is a rose.

It is November in Kansas, and that rose is still blooming. 

In spite of the chilly weather, in spite of what is obviously the wrong season for roses, in spite of, well, EVERYTHING, this rose has defiantly survived and bloomed. 

Democracy is a funny thing. We vote, then either we rejoice or we despair. It's woo! or woe! every time we leave the ballot box. But (as our dining companions on The Great Train Ride pointed out), we are Americans, and Americans adapt. 

We do our best, and we listen to each other, and we support our views with fervor, and then no matter what the outcome we adapt and thrive.

We are roses in November.