That’s Writing

As I’m reading Moon Tide by Dawn Clifton Tripp (see my teasing about the book here), I’m reading Willa Cather’s Death Comes for the Archbishop also. Cather can describe a scene without trying:

The two friends were roused from their reflections by a frantic beating of wings. A bright flock of pigeons swept over their heads to the far end of the garden, where a woman was just emerging from the gate that led into the school grounds; Magdalena […] advanced in a whirlwind of gleaming wings, and Tranquilino dropped his spade and stood watching her. At one moment the whole flock of doves caught the light in such a way that they all became invisible at once, dissolved in light and disappeared as salt dissolves in water. The next moment they flashed around, black and silver against the sun.


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