It was a bright, pleasant, frosty morning, perfectly still, with an air like wine. –George MacDonald, What’s Mine’s Mine, 1886 Happy Birthday to my big sister Kathy! We’re reading this book together this winter, she in the Texas Hill Country, I in the mountains of Montana. Upon hearing that I had re-discovered the copy she’d…

We do not want to merely “see” beauty—though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. C.S. Lewis—The Weight of…