This past Thursday night I drove home from class and it was snowing while the strong winds madly blew autumn leaves swirling through the blackness. It was one of those experiences of nature that might happen again in your lifetime, but the odds are that you may not be outside to see it. I raced home to plop down in front of the computer to write about it, try to describe it to you, and just couldn’t.
Cormac McCarthy could have. And, he would leave you with the same gasping feeling of being overcome with speechless wonder as he does with words that make up the story of Blood Meridian.
This is one of the milder examples, that of being alone and awake to see the sun rise: “In the predawn light he made his way out upon a promontory and there received first of any creature in that country the warmth of the sun’s ascending.” I mean, is this guy alone out there or what? It’s desolate, very early, perfectly silent and still, and he’s tired and cold from walking into the early morning hours. He’s gotta feel hollow inside, because you sure do just watching him. Man, you just want to speak up but he’s separated from you by a space that prevents you from letting him know you’re going through this with him.
How can you match nature’s random beauty; or McCarthy’s use of words.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology