Out in a deep green meadow, yellow daisy's blossomed. Birds sang along to the wind blowing through the leaves on the great big willow tree's. You could smell the sweetness of momma's homemade apple dumplings in the distance. To get to momma's homemade apple dumplings, you had to go through the whispering pines. A very perfect, peaceful place, but dont underestimate the greatness of the whispering pines. Still to this day the tales of the confusion that appears and happens in the whispering pines still haunt the little village of Ravenna still to this day. I was about 8 years of age and i lived in Ravenna with my baby brother, mother, and father. On a later september morning, my father set out to go hunting and i decided to come with him. Got all dressed in my camo, bright orange hat and mud boots. Set off to the woods by 8 o'clock through the corn field behind my house. …show more content…
I took a deep breath and stared face to face with the whispering pines, following my fathers foot steps. We had to find the tree blind so i could sit in it with my bebe gun. You could not smell mommas homemade apple dumplings anymore. That made me really sad. As we continued down the trail, i found the blind and climbed right up in it. My father told me to stay right there and not move until he returned to get me. As he was walking away, he turned at told me to shoot anything with a bushy tail. So i waited and waited, it felt like
It was a spring afternoon in West Florida. Janie had spent most of the day under a blossoming pear tree in the back-yard. She had been spending every minute that she could steal from her chores under that tree for the last three days. That was to say, ever since the first tiny bloom had opened. It had called her to come and gaze on a mystery. From barren brown stems to glistening leaf-buds; from the leaf-buds to snowy virginity of bloom. It stirred her tremendously. How? Why? It was like a flute song forgotten in another existence and remembered again.
The cold chill was blazing on me and my shoe gently began to pull out a tear. I thought about Candy and the other guys. Hopefully, I made the right choice. The sun came down and I ended up in a deserted river. Slowly, I began to regain where I was, and I opened my eyes in disbelief.
The chapter on fecundity addresses the bizarre ways that nature has evolved to ensure the continuity of a species. As the title suggests, fecundity deals with the fertility of species where Annie Dillard explores the inefficiency of fertility and the brutality of nature’s evolution. In the end, Dillard concludes that death is a part of life.
Months later, I woke up and walked down stairs to make my oats. I walked downstairs and was looking for my Father. I looked everywhere in the house before I noticed he was no-where to be found. Then I walked into the living room and saw my Mother. She was hysterical. Tears were running down her cheek like the Mississippi flowed into the Gulf of Mexico.
The time spent there became more about meeting family friends and going to dinners. Almost four years passed before I returned to the memory of getting lost in those woods. It was a week before the start to my junior year of high school, and I was visiting my grandparents in Virginia. One morning, after a very early breakfast and a promise to return promptly, I walked outside toward the woods. I walked aimlessly, remembering the similar trips I used to make in the forest upstate. I saw a young kid, eager to dirty his hands with exploration of the tangible world. I was older now, and my summer had been spent exploring a possible career path by interning at a financial services firm. A sudden thought crept slowly into my mind, piecing itself together before my
It was around nine o’clock when I pulled into the driveway. It was pitch black outside so I brought a flashlight with me. Now I’m a paranoid person, so I also brought my machete with me. My grandparents lived right in front of a dense forest, so you never know what could come out of there.
It is not true that the close of a life which ends in a natural fashion-
It was finally fall break. I was visiting my grandma for a few days. Well past dinnertime, I pulled up to the white stately home in northern rural Iowa. I parked my car, unloaded my bag and pillow, and crunched through the leaves to the front porch. The porch was just how I had seen it last; to the right, a small iron table and chairs, along with an old antique brass pole lamp, and on the left, a flowered glider that I have spent many a summer afternoon on, swaying back and forth, just thinking.
In the poem, “Dirge in Woods” by George Meredith, Meredith presents a speaker who shares his or her thoughts on a pine tree in the woods. The speaker vividly describes the looks and sounds of the pine tree and its surroundings. Throughout the poem, the speaker speaks to his or her audience in a contemplative yet matter-of-fact tone. The audience that the speaker is talking to is humanity. The speaker presents the theme of continuity and presents his audience with his observations regarding the pine tree and the environment around it. The speaker explains to the audience that, even though individual living things die, such as humans or plants, the greater species as a whole continues to live on. In other words, when one individual dies another
Bill Bryson the author of the short story ‘A Walk in the Woods’ constructs the story in a certain way to try to get the reader to accept his attitudes and values about how dangerous and death defying Earl V. Shaffer and other’s are in attempting to travel the trail. He uses the techniques of emotive language, unusual language and use of first hand accounts in the short story ‘A Walk in the Woods‘ . The use of descriptive and humorous language, combined with conversational text has allowed Bryson to express his feelings and opinions on his and others experiences on the Appalachian Trail to the audience.
Looking back, I remember running through the long lush grass pretending we were at battle andtrying to take cover. I would always find myself behind the old oak tree in our back yard. This was my favorite spot. The thick trunk, like a bodyguard, protected me from the imaginary bullets that flew towards my body. I would lean against the hard bark and for some reason it was comforting to have something sturdy to lean on. It was dark brown, and every now and then a spider would nestle between the pieces of bark. Sometimes I would touch the tree to peek around the corner and my fingers would be sticky. I could never quite figure out why that was, but, nevertheless, I had the hardest time getting it off, a constant reminder of my tree.
We slowly crept around the corner, finally sneaking a peek at our cabin. As I hopped out of the front seat of the truck, a sharp sense of loneliness came over me. I looked around and saw nothing but the leaves on the trees glittering from the constant blowing wind. Catching myself standing staring around me at all the beautiful trees, I noticed that the trees have not changed at all, but still stand tall and as close as usual. I realized that the trees surrounding the cabin are similar to the being of my family: the feelings of never being parted when were all together staying at our cabin.
running through the corn and playing hide and seek. Even after all the fun I had,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld the silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.