Suspended somewhere between autumn and winter. That’s Northern Virginia in late November. Late roses and confused azaleas bloom fitfully, while even the stalwart marigolds hang limp on sad brown stems. Patches of green grass struggle to poke through a thick scatter of crisp red and gold leaves. Hardy perennial rosemary and sage stay strong while their more delicate annual cousin, basil, has surrendered to the cold.

Meanwhile, on some porches pumpkins and fall decorations are still piled up artfully (in what my friend Peggy and I used to call “squash medleys”) while a few others already sport their holiday lights.

The morning after Thanksgiving, I took a walk around our neighborhood. A small boy half-heartedly raked some leaves. Two small dogs sat motionless on the side stoop of their house. Otherwise, there was little sign of life. Everything seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the next move, suspended somewhere between autumn and winter.