It was November
the month of crimson sunsets,
parting birds,
deep, sad, hymns of the sea,
passionate wind-songs in the pines.
Anne Shirley By The Ocean
James Hill
Sullivan Gallery Collection
Anne roamed through the pineland
alleys in the park, and as she said,
let the great sweeping wind
blow the fog out of her soul.
Anne was not wont
to be troubled with soul fog.
An excerpt from the book,
"Anne Of The Island"
(1915)
By Lucy Maude Montgomery
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