Nature imagery is abundant in the novel, and du Maurier often combines it with personification. One striking example occurs in Chapter 1, in the narrator's dream about returning to Manderley:
Nature had come into her own again and, little by little, in her stealthy, insidious way had encroached upon the drive with long, tenacious fingers. The woods, always a menace even in the past, had triumphed in the end. They crowded, dark and uncontrolled, to the borders of the drive. The beeches with white, naked limbs leaned close to one another, their branches intermingled in a strange embrace, making a vault above my head [...]. And there were [...] tortured elms that straggled cheek by jowl with the beeches, and had thrust themselves out of the quiet earth [...].
In the most basic sense, this passage delivers a description of the road up to Manderley as it would look after years of neglect by the groundskeeping staff. It would be overgrown and difficult to fight through. By leaning on personification and imagery, du Maurier packs her description with many further layers of meaning.
Manderley, as the narrator thinks of it, is an inherently wild place. Nature here is not just the collective name for flora and fauna, but rather a feminine being with "long, tenacious fingers" and a sneaky demeanor. Nature wants to get her hands on Manderley. For all the effort Maxim and other inhabitants of Manderley put forth over the years to manicure the grounds, this passage suggests that nature was always going to sneak back in and choke them out because that is her way.
Nature's "body parts" come alive in their own right. The woods at first seem to make up nature's "fingers," but du Maurier ascribes action to them: they "menace," "triumph," and "crowd" the drive. This language not only paints an image of overgrown trees, but also imbues them with sinister intent. The beeches' "limbs," too, grow with intent. These trees stand out not as bright points in the dark woods, but rather as a vault of "white, naked" limbs all tangled in a "strange embrace." A naked group embrace has sexual overtones that the narrator considers "strange."
Even if the sight is unsettling, the narrator is nonetheless drawn to it, walking under the "vault" the embrace forms. She seems especially fascinated with the way nature persists in coming back from the dead year after year. A naked tree limb is dead, at least for the duration of winter. These tree branches are zombie "limbs," pale with death, but nonetheless growing up out of the ground and tangling with one another. They stand side-by-side with elms that are even more zombie-like, "thrust[ing] themselves out of the quiet earth." Their "tortured" demeanor suggests that their souls have been in hell and are now "straggling" up from their graves. This word, "straggling," captures the way du Maurier skillfully blends personification and imagery. The word is just one letter off from "struggling," which emphasizes the idea of the trees as people fighting for life. And yet "straggling" itself emphasizes the untamed, uncontrollable look of the trees. It signals to the reader that nothing at Manderley, even human nature, can quite be brought under control.
In Chapter 5, the narrator barely refrains from crying after Maxim gets angry at her for asking about his past. She uses personification and alliteration to help convey how she feels on their drive back to the hotel:
Swiftly we covered the ground, far too swiftly, I thought, far too easily, and the callous countryside watched us with indifference.
The countryside is not actually alive and cannot really be watching Maxim and the narrator. By personifying it, the narrator conveys the sense that things are out of sorts: she is having a devastating emotional experience inside, and yet the outside world remains unchanged. It seems to her that the countryside should adapt to her inner world. Instead, it is "callous" and "indifferent." Not only does this indifference feel unfair to her in the moment, but it also sullies her earlier enjoyment of her drive with Maxim. The countryside wasn't beautiful earlier for its own sake. It was beautiful because their new relationship is special.
As an artist, the narrator often projects meaning onto her surroundings. This habit comes into full force at Manderley, where she sees reasons everywhere to feel insecure about her relationship with Maxim. This moment demonstrates that she has always projected meaning onto her surroundings, even before Manderley. In this case, the countryside seems to stand in for Maxim as a target of the narrator's anger and contempt. Her alliteration, "callous countryside," suggests that she is mentally spitting out her harsh words. While Maxim has spoiled the outing by losing his own temper, the narrator has been unable to express this kind of anger back to him. Instead, she draws into herself, asks to go home, and begins looking out the car window. It is Maxim who drives too fast, Maxim who has been callous, and Maxim whom she so desperately wants to look at her without indifference. Because she is already so dependent on him for her self-worth, she struggles to tell him all this. She redirects her anger instead to her inanimate environment, as though it and not Maxim is responsible for nearly making her cry.