A "Flash"

I have a running list of "natural highs" in life, those little things that make your heart swell--things that may go unnoticed by others. Whether receiving a handwritten letter or beholding the first morning snow of the season, there are very precious moments when time seems to stand still and I can never seem to savor it enough.
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Rather than still being overwhelmed by my list of books to read, I decided to dive right in once the school semester had officially ended. I didn't linger on choosing one for long, as I knew that I was in the mood for a novel. I'm about one-third of the way through with Emily of New Moon (L.M. Montgomery). I'm so glad I chose this one to read, one significant reason being that something early on in Montgomery's story resonated with something inside of me. Do you ever get the feeling that you're trying your best to describe something to someone, but feel like you're failing miserably due to not having even close to the right words to describe what you're thinking? I do quite often...
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It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty. Between it and herself hung only a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside --but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond--only a glimpse--and heard a note of unearthly music.
This moment came rarely--went swiftly, leaving her breathless with the inexpressible delight of it. She could never recall it--never summon it--never pretend it' but the wonder of it stayed with her for days. It never came twice with the same thing. To-night the dark boughs against that far-off sky had given it. It had come with a high, wild note of wind in the night, with a shadow wave over a ripe field, with a greybird lighting on her window-sill in a storm, with the singing of "Holy, holy, holy" in church, with a glimpse of the kitchen fire when she had come home on a dark autumn night, with the spirit-like blue of ice palms on a twilit pane, with a felicitous new word when she was writing down a "description" of something. And always when the flash came to her Emily felt that life was a wonderful, mysterious thing of persistent beauty.
She scuttled back to the house in the hollow, through the gathering twilight, all agog to get home and write down her "description" before the memory picture of what she had seen grew a little blurred. She knew just how she would begin it--the sentence seemed to shape itself in her mind: "The hill called to me and something in me called back to it." (Chapter 1, Emily of New Moon, L.M. Montgomery)