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Anne Morrow Lindbergh had a knack for writing a journal that just bubbles over with vivid beauty. She excels in descriptive writing and makes you feel every moment with all senses.

It can feel like a taste of spring on a winter’s day, the breeze warm on your cheek as you read it. And it can also make you feel like a slouch when it comes to your own journals because there are no breezes or spring flavors awoken on your tongue when you re-read it. (Surely I’m not the only one who winces when she re-reads her journals?!)

Still, in spite of a tinge of jealousy, I did enjoy a glimpse into the life of the woman who married Lucky Lindy, including the period of their life when they first met and became engaged. It’s fascinating to see him through her eyes and if it weren’t for the fact that I sincerely dislike his political persuasion, I’d be very intrigued to do more reading up on him

 

and his story. Instead, I find myself intrigued more by Anne and drawn to re-reading her small book, Gifts from the Sea, wanting to taste more of her words and experience a bit of her life through her writings.

And – I find myself journaling again, even if my notes on life will never been as good or as widely read as hers. Perhaps if I make more of a conscious effort to look at life with an eye for stories, for words and retelling, I might be somewhere on the way to writing like that.

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