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  • Writer's pictureLinda Odhner, with photos by Liz Kufs

Excerpted Inspirations #66


     It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty.  Between it and herself hung only a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside -- but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond -- only a glimpse -- and heard a note of unearthly music.          This moment came rarely -- went swiftly, leaving her breathless with the inexpressible delight of it.  She could never recall it -- never summon it -- never pretend it; but the wonder of it stayed with her for days.  It never came twice with the same thing.  To-night the dark boughs against that far-off sky had given it.  It had come with a high, wild note of wind in the night, with a shadow wave over a ripe field, with a greybird lighting on her window-sill in a storm, with the singing of "Holy, holy, holy" in church, with a glimpse of the kitchen fire when she had come home on a dark autumn night, with the spirit-like blue of ice-palms on a twilit pane, with a felicitous new word when she was writing down a "description" of something.  And always when the flash came to her Emily felt that life was a wonderful, mysterious thing of persistent beauty.  -L. M. Montgomery, Emily of New Moon (1923), p. 7.

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