It was November―the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and, as she said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.
L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
I know; I know. I'm forever singing the praises of autumn and winter. Not only do I gravitate toward a neutral palette of grays, I happen to thrive on plenty of cool, fresh air. Maybe it has something to do with being a Libra, the cardinal air sign of the zodiac, but just like Anne of Green Gables, I must embrace that great sweeping wind. It certainly does blow the darkness out of my soul, chase the black dog from my doorstep. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off for a fast November drive in the Rover with the windows down, wind-fingers in my hair...
image: November view from the french doors at Willow Manor