The Beauty of Creation

I've recently gotten into reading L.M. Montgomery's novels. Montgomery is famous for her Anne of Green Gables series. There are parts of this author's books that I dislike, and many other aspects that I absolutely love. But one facet of Montgomery's writing that I deeply appreciate, and is prominent in nearly all of her stories, is her descriptions of nature.

Typically, I skim over long descriptive passages in novels to move on to the dialogue and action. However, there is something about the way L.M. Montgomery portrays scenery that draws me in. Her sentences feel vivid and transcendent. They make me want to stand in a grove of trees, relishing their beauty and the glory of their Creator.

Here's a section from her book "The Blue Castle" that I particularly love.

Winter was beautiful "up back" - almost intolerably beautiful. Days of clear brilliance. Evenings that were like cups of glamour - the purest vintage of winter's wine. Nights with their fire of stars. Cold, exquisite winter sunrises. Lovely ferns of ice all over the windows of the Blue Castle. Moonlight on birches in a silver thaw. Ragged shadows on windy evenings - torn, twisted, fantastic shadows. Great silences, austere and searching. Jewelled, barbaric hills. The sun suddenly breaking through grey clouds over long, white Mistawis. Ice-grey twilights, broken by snow-squalls, when their cosy living-room, with its goblins of firelight and inscrutable cats seemed cosier than ever. Every hour brought a new revelation and wonder.

I'm no L.M. Montgomery. But breathtaking paragraphs like the one above inspire me to practice writing nature descriptions of my own. Here's something I jotted down over a week ago while sitting by the creek behind my house. I hope you enjoy it, but it's okay if you don't. Simply writing this was so life-giving for me.

Monday, early evening. The creek drifts by, the color of a buttery green olive. The sycamores are like sidewalk chalk drawings, half wasted by torrents of wind and water. A fly pecks my cheek. Geese argue obnoxiously in the distance. A goldenrod-colored rope trails from a branch, waiting for sweaty-palmed kids to grasp it and swing into cold, liquid summer.

Soft spring light cradles the blue blossoms lining the bank. The wind nudges, arouses. A frail twig dangles from a log, wiggling in the breeze like a tooth ready to give. The trees cast thin, elongated shadows over the water, resembling tremendous fingers.

I tip my face back and admire tufts of green against crystal blue. A red-brown trunk cuts across the sky. Below, a minnow darts through the muddy shallows. On the opposite bank, flowers stretch their bodies freely in the wind. What is it like to bloom in the wilds beyond, where light is thick and flourishing comes easily?

For now, I will rest my pen and close this book. But may my soul remain open to receive from Him, and may I never lose sight of the wonder of it all.

As always, I'm praying for you. ❤️

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"Let all that I am praise the Lord. O Lord my God, how great you are! You are robed with honor and majesty. You are dressed in a robe of light. You stretch out the starry curtain of the heavens; you lay out the rafters of your home in the rain clouds...O Lord, what a variety of things you have made! In wisdom you have made them all."

Psalm 104:1-2, 24 (NLT)