There’s a shimmer on a child’s hair, in the sunlight. There are rainbow colors in it, tiny, soft beams of just the same colors you can see in the dew sometimes.

— Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

And even in the house I could smell how raw the wind was. That sort of wind brought out a musk in the fir trees and spread the cold breath of the lake everywhere. There was nothing out there — no smell of wood smoke or oatmeal — to hint at human comfort.

— from Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson

So the wind that billowed her sheets announced to her the resurrection of the ordinary.

— Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson