Someone could compile a long collection of Poul Anderson's descriptions of nature. They are ubiquitous in his narratives although maybe unnoticed by some readers. In a single short paragraph:
the eastern sky is like "...a violet-blue chalice..." (p. 29) holding the early stars;
the western sky is a "...red, purple, and hot gold..." (ibid.) fountain;
luminous waters move and lull;
quiet, soft air smells "...of kelp and distances." (ibid.)
We have encountered an odour of distances before.
Hungry, weary and woeful merfolk can find hope for an hour. We pause on this paragraph but the narrative continues.
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