I had a cold last week, and am shedding the residual effects of it. I reached for a book to read, wanting a pleasant distraction, and picked up L. M. Montgomery's Jane of Lantern Hill. I was just beginning to ask myself if it wasn't too much a children's book and maybe I should find something else. But when Janes's father shows up and they spend the summer together at the shore, the descriptions of their days and the scenery just take over. His car broke down, and he had to hire a horse and buggy, so they got to enjoy the scenery:
"A blithe soul was Jane as they drove away. The glow at her heart went with her across the Island. ...The road was full of lovely surprises...a glimpse of far-off hills that seemed made of opal dust...a whiff of wind that had been blowing over a clover field....brooks that appeared from nowhere and and ran off into green shadowy woods where long branches of spicy fir hung over the laced water....great white cloud mountains towering up in the blue sky....a hollow of tipsy buttercups....a tidal river unbelievably blue. Everything seemed just on the point of whispering a secret of happiness."
The other day I was looking at some clouds and trees and searching for words of description - could not find any. I'm not a writer - I know it. But I knew that the clouds could have been described in a glowing way by someone like Lucy Maud Montgomery, if not me. There are many things we see, and many moments like she writes of, which are worth remembering in this way. If we try to pay attention.
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