One of my favorite books is The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery. I discovered it while spending the summer living with my parents, helping my mother with a little company and a lot of bossiness. Those who are related to me need not comment here. Smirk.
Reading this book in my lazy summer hammock after lunch was the perfect little vacation from the morning's bustle and it led my imagination back down the familiar pathways it had meandered as a child, hiding from unfinished chores. I was able to lose myself in the rich textures of her gratuitously abundant descriptions while promising myself I would re-apply pen to paper and capture some of my own dizzy flights of fancy. I can almost feel the amorous summer breeze hurrying past to the tomato fields to kiss each rosy-skinned cheek while the leaves overhead fan my eyes to a less wary position. Just remembering the details of that moment are enough to make me want to curl up with another copy and see if the words are just as magical on a chilly winter night.
The title of my blog is no longer appropriate, as my dear younger brother has informed me. So, I am beginning a new chapter of the same book. I am daring to dream that it will have just as many wondrous surprises to justify the jostling bumps of the first forty pages. The theme of despair, hope and redemption is such a universally satisfying delight as well as an echo of our own life's journey. Happy reading and thank you for being here.
Reading this book in my lazy summer hammock after lunch was the perfect little vacation from the morning's bustle and it led my imagination back down the familiar pathways it had meandered as a child, hiding from unfinished chores. I was able to lose myself in the rich textures of her gratuitously abundant descriptions while promising myself I would re-apply pen to paper and capture some of my own dizzy flights of fancy. I can almost feel the amorous summer breeze hurrying past to the tomato fields to kiss each rosy-skinned cheek while the leaves overhead fan my eyes to a less wary position. Just remembering the details of that moment are enough to make me want to curl up with another copy and see if the words are just as magical on a chilly winter night.
The title of my blog is no longer appropriate, as my dear younger brother has informed me. So, I am beginning a new chapter of the same book. I am daring to dream that it will have just as many wondrous surprises to justify the jostling bumps of the first forty pages. The theme of despair, hope and redemption is such a universally satisfying delight as well as an echo of our own life's journey. Happy reading and thank you for being here.
