Finding Joy in Each Season

I recently started reading a book by L.M. Montgomery called Magic for Marigold. It is a sweet story of a girl by the name of Marigold who lives with her Mother, her Grandmothers, Aunts, and Uncles and servants in the their delightful home (which they call Cloud of Spruce) on Prince Edward Island. Marigold is a sweet little girl who thinks deeply and appreciates everything about life and all the little delights and pleasures it brings. She is especially fascinated with the beauty of the nature that surrounds her, and finds joy in what each season brings.

So far it's a very cute story, and I thought I would share a few paragraphs of the story that explain what Marigold enjoys about each season. L.M. Montgomery is an amazing descriptive writer and I find myself drawn into the story and compelled to take pleasure in those simple things of life that may sometimes be overlooked. Enjoy!

" Oh, spring was a lovely time, when the harbour was a quivering, shimmering reach of blue and the orchard was sprinkled with violets and the nights were like a web of starlight.


But all the seasons were lovely. Summer, when strawberries were red on the hill-field and the rain was so sweet in the wild rose cups, and the faint sweetness of new-mown hay was everywhere, and the full moon made such pretty dapples under the orchard trees, and the great fields of daisies across the harbour were white as snow.


Of all the seasons Marigold loved autumn best. Then the Gaffer Wind of her favourite fairy-tale blew his trumpet over the harbour and the glossy black crows sat in rows on the fences, and the yellow leaves began to fall from the aspens at the green gate, and there was  the silk of frost on the orchard grass in the mornings. In the evenings there was a nice reek of burning leaves from Lazarre's bonfires and the ploughed fields on the hill gleamed redly against the dark spruces.  And some night you went to bed in a drab dull world and wakened up to see a white miraculous one. Winter had touched it in the darkness and transformed it.


Marigold loved winter too with the mysterious silence of its moonlit snow-fields and the spell of its stormy skies. And the big black cats creeping mysteriously through the twilight glades where the shadows of the trees were lovelier than the trees themselves...The pasture-fields which had been green and gold in June were cold and white, with ghost-flowers sticking up above the snow. Marigold always felt so sorry for those dead flowerstalks. She wanted to whisper to them, "Spring will come."


The winter mornings were int'resting because they had breakfast by candlelight. The winter evenings were dear when the wind howled outside, determined to get into Cloud of Spruce. It clawed at the doors--shrieked at the windows--gave Marigold delicious little thrills. But it never got in. It was so nice to sit in the warm bright room with the cats toasting their furry flanks before the fire and the pleasant purr of Salome's spinning-wheel in the kitchen. And then to bed in the little room off Mother's, with sweet, sleepy kisses, to snuggle down in soft, creamy blankets and hear the storm outside. Yes, the world was a lovely place to be alive in..."