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Importance of trees essay 500 words
Importance of trees essay 500 words
Building impact on the environment
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Nothing happens. Four old structures stand stiffly in assembly, formatting a rectangular plane. All edges, the edges depicted by the symmetrical arrangement of these houses, glare inward in a staring contest that began a long time ago, quietly waiting for perpetuity’s abandonment. Two rims of the framework are losing, gently crumbling under the still, silent tension. A hollow is carved, a break in the divide between an organized vicinity and the untamed forest that would soon invade. In the tide of time’s delicate pull, nature prevails, swallowing everything in its enduring cycles. Nothing happens. This cleared area is tucked behind wooded trails, followed by a Private Property sign and a gate hinged to a crooked fence that wraps partway around the grassy terrain, loosely segregating striking scenery from yard. A sandy trail carves its way around the inside perimeter of the buildings, carriage wheel tracks slicing through, encircling the four structures countless times, countless and enduring as a clock ticking mockingly at the passive stillness in which the aging buildings are confined to. The display of houses encases a small grass field. Raised in the center is a stone-stacked frame surrounding a fractured grave: Pierre Bernardey, 1827. A piece of verse follows, the weathered stone illegible, and weeds crawling and finding home between the cracks that spider across the headstone. The grave sits eerily in its apparent age and is ignored. Living history, the axis on which the activity within the fenced-in square rotates, yet it is the center. It does not move. History can only wait as it obliterates itself, gradually forgetting and being forgotten. It lies gloomily before the surrounding structures. The southern boundary of th... ... middle of paper ... .... The lovely, awful stinging nettle blossom in spring’s cool breezes, and summer’s foals slouch awkwardly in the shade next to Bernardey’s house. And close by a copperhead finds salvation in the damp shadow under our air conditioning unit. Three goats stand in a tree. A vulture looms overhead in steady, creeping loops above the canopy. The night sky glows. The stars rotate like the wagon wheel formation splattered on the yard, pivoting steadily until broken and abandoned by the clock. Time turns in nature’s grasp. In the quiet illusion of this enclosed fortress, the familiar rooster has been seen strutting side-by-side with an owl, in midday. Another day, an owl plummets toward the ground, scooping up a rattlesnake in its talons, bumping the snake’s head on the fence on the way back up, all under the still and silent eyes of these aging, enduring monuments.
The timeline carries on chronologically, the intense imagery exaggerated to allow the poem to mimic childlike mannerisms. This, subjectively, lets the reader experience the adventure through the young speaker’s eyes. The personification of “sunset”, (5) “shutters”, (8) “shadows”, (19) and “lamplights” (10) makes the world appear alive and allows nothing to be a passing detail, very akin to a child’s imagination. The sunset, alive as it may seem, ordinarily depicts a euphemism for death, similar to the image of the “shutters closing like the eyelids”
When she was gone, he lay for some time staring at the water stains on the gray walls. Descending from the top moulding, long icicle shapes had been etched by leaks and, directly over his bed on the ceiling, another leak had made a fierce bird with spread wings. It had an icicle crosswise in its beak and there were smaller icicles depending from its wings and tail. It had been there since his childhood and had always irritated him and sometimes had frightened him. He had often had the illusion that it was in motion about to descend mysteriously and set the icicle on his head. He closed his eyes and thought: I won't have to look at it for many more days. And presently he went to sleep. (93)
...turned east onto the gravel country road and then onto the track which led back to the old house with the rusted hogwire strung around it and the stunted elm trees standing up leafless inside the rusted wire.” (125). In this line the fence represents the emotional wall that the brothers have erected to keep everyone out. Then Victoria comes and gives their house homey touches and they realize that they can’t keep everyone out forever. “Now the wind started up in the trees, high up, moving the high branches. The barn swallows came out and began to hunt leaf-bugs and lacewinged flies in the dusk. The air grew soft.” (301).
A., Jr. “Peter Taylor and the Walled Gardens.” Journal of the Short Story in English 9 (Fall 1987): 65-72. Heldrich, Philip. The. “Collision and Revision in Peter Taylor’s ‘The Old Forest’.” Southern Quarterly: A Journal of the Arts in the South 38.2 (Winter 2000): 48-53.
...ccounts of memory are overflowing into one another and forming a panoramic picture of memory, in which the distinction between legend and history and between the personal and the cultural cannot operate any more. The plain he is watching over is not the land itself. Somewhere in it, a woman in a beautiful dress is buried without a tombstone. Even the "glare of noon and all the colors of the dawn and dusk" has its memory to be recollected. It is a landscape heavily loaded with the memory - both legend and history, both the personal and the cultural, which should be recollected and remembered. It is a "remembered earth," which "a man ought to concentrate his mind upon," "to look at it from as many angles as he can, to wonder about, to dwell upon it."
I stumbled onto the porch and hear the decrepit wooden planks creak beneath my feet. The cabin had aged and had succumb to the power of the prime mover in its neglected state. Kudzu vines ran along the structure, strangling the the cedar pillars that held the roof above the porch. One side of the debacle had been defeated by the ensnarement and slouched toward the earth. However, the somber structure survives in spite. It contests sanguine in the grip of the strangling savage. But the master shall prevail and the slave will fall. It will one day be devoured and its remains, buried by its master, never to be unearthed, misinterpreted as a ridge rather than a
(75) The Intended’s street is compared to an alley of a cemetery, and the grand piano in the drawing room to a sarcophagus, extending the “ominous, dark qualities of the wilderness” to her home
Stonehenge is without a doubt the most interesting and mysterious monument in Europe. In the passage the author informs the audience that Stonehenge is a way to let future generations to remember ancient civilization’s legacies. People who build those Stonehenge did not create those monuments to puzzle future generations, and they did not expect that future generations would be constantly puzzling and trying to figure it out. In the essay the author persuade the audience that man built megaliths is a way to resist his own mortality by using jargons, specific examples, and stylistic writing.
When Death stops for the speaker, he reins a horse-drawn carriage as they ride to her grave. This carriage symbolizes a hearse of which carries her coffin to her grave a day or two after her death. As they ride, they pass, “the School… / the Fields of Gazing Grain— / [and] the Setting Sun—” (lines 9-12). These three symbolize the speakers life, from childhood in the playgrounds, to labor in the fields, and finally to the setting sun of her life. When the speaker and Death arrive at the house, it is night.
It is a symbol created through the actions of law-makers, regulators, architects, and landowners who had previously and knowingly allowed the construction of the house upon sacred grounds and the desecration of burial site. Furthermore, the mound of narrator is described as “clearly marked” and well taken care of, thus proving that the colonizers from before were indeed willingly ignorant to the pre-existing graves on the land. The repetition of the line “renovating back hoeing new patio, new deck, new view” provides criticism on how colonizers are always seeking for more and can also be interpreted as historical commentary on how initial colonizers, blinded by greed for more land,
As the journey to the destination begun the atmosphere is horrid as they passed cheap motels half deserted streets and sawdust motels it all set a very bleak tone of lifelessness, to support this claim, “like a patient etherized upon a table.” (Eliot 368) although they also encountered a yellow fog most likely caused by industrialism it took a form of animal imagery finding comfort in its surroundings to support this claim, “The yellow fog that rubs t back upon the window-panes, the yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes, Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening.” (Eliot
“It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mourning notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro, down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the glittering circlet.
Every night at midnight, the narrator went to the old man's room. Carefully, he turned the latch to the door, and opened it without making a sound. When a sufficient opening had been made, a covered lantern was thrust inside. "I undid the lantern cautiously...(for the hindges creaked)--I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights...but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye."
About half-way between West Egg and New York the motor road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley of ashes---a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens, where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of grey cars cr...
The shrill cries of my alarm echo across vermilion painted walls, stirring my consciousness into an aware state. It is precisely eight o’clock on a warm summer Monday; the distant cries of mockingbirds can be heard above the soft whirring of cars passing our genteel residential street. My ears scan the house; it is quiet – barely a sound other than the tinkling of tags as our pets navigate the living room. The still morning air brought realization, with no children running around Mother must have already left for work. Never leaving my lax position I stretch and sigh, it is nice to not have to baby-sit my sister’s kids – my nieces and nephew – but I do miss the mornings where my mother would still kiss me goodbye.