Here in mid-Michigan, the time for things blooming outdoors has largely passed. Sure a lot of people have their chrysanthemums, and our clematis and nicotiana have a few stubborn blooms. For the most part, though, the slow death of fall has begun, the leaves have largely dropped, and all color is disappearing from the outdoors.
That’s why it’s especially gratifying that my living room has been so floral. I have five plants in here but two — a prayer plant and an adopted orchid — are just foliage.
That’s fine. I’m a big fan of foliage, and have been known to choose plants accordingly. That’s why one of my longest lasting plants is a glorious purple wandering Jew that has been with me about three years. During the summer it lives outside, and the constant stream of sunlight keeps the leaves a beautiful purple.
This time of year, the light is less and so is the purple. However, from its perch on the piano, there is enough daily light to prompt the occasional small blossoms.
Another longtime love is my bougainvillea. This poor thing has been traumatized back to near barrenness at least twice, and I keep nursing it back. Right now it is rewarding me with its paper flowers:
My great love, though, is my hibiscus. I was fortunate enough to pluck this beauty from Freecycle. A dear lady bought it thinking it was hardy enough to winter outdoors, then learned it was not, and would not risk poisoning her nine cats with it. I have one cat and took the risk.
If it is possible to be in love with a plant, I might be in love with this one. My daughter caught me staring intently at a blossom. I marvel at their intricacy and so I am unabashedly busted.