So habitually still these woods have been, so eerie in their perfect tranquility, lacking disruption of human presence between dawn and nightfall, as dusk swiftly began to take over and diffuse the sunlight that once lingered amongst the bark's leafy spire, now enclosing the woods in hollow darkness as daylight took on a swarthy complexion. Already bent by time, the sturdy branches of the oak tree swayed back and forth in perfect rhythm to the violent, yet melodious gusts of wind. Its usually lifeless limbs becoming animated with the powerful expel of air that whistled a soft tune to the nightingale's song. The overlay of inert leaves began to levitate and scatter around, landing in various spots and resting there, until revoked once more by nature's tumultuous force. The brisk smell of the outdoors was overshadowed by the scent of fresh pine, as one wandered deeper into the woods where it gained density and intensified its aroma. Unsure hands wandered to help familiarize with their surroundings, as vision became overcast with darkness. The night was now active in full force.
Having deviated from a safe crowd of familiar faces, the young girl was now alone, wandering the woods, lost by a moment of rebellion and regretting her decision. The childish way in which she handled disagreements has now led her into the very depth of a place so frequently visited by day, but so alien by night. Her energetic walk fueled by exaggerated anger has now been replaced by thoughtful, measured steps. The chill in the air nipping at her poorly covered flesh, she now wished she had taken the jumper from her mother's hands before she ran off. Better still, she wished she had never ran off in the first place. Induced by fear, her pupils dilated,...
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...'t match his openent's, he took one last glance at the girl and ran clumsily...
''Jesus kid, you're freezing!'' Not wasting anymore time, he took off his jacket and placed it carefully over her shoulders.
''Uhm, thank you'' She felt safe now. One stranger in a strange place exchanged for another stranger. But she felt safe now. Safe and warm.
''So where do you live?''
''In uhm....finchley road''
''Well you're lucky it ain't far'' He spoke to her softly, ''I'm holding beer money'' He chuckled to himself vibrantly. ''So, how long were you with him?'' He asked, pointing behind him.
''Not long, I met him here.....''
''What? What are you trying to be? Alice in Wonderland?'' He asked, slightly bewildered. Noticing him drop the unfinished cigarette to the ground she quickly picked it up held it out to him.
''You can drop that back. I don't smoke''
“Even in the dark I could see that it was dying, and doing it alone in the middle of all these un-concerned pines. That was the absolute way of things. Loss takes up inside of everything sooner or later and eats right through it,” (Kidd 55). This is eerie for someone who only just dodges supplementary prison time, but deciphers Lily’s logic of how life worked. A lone pine provokes speculation most did not mull over until they are older.
An impulse of affection and guardianship drew Niel up the poplar-bordered road in the early light [. . .] and on to the marsh. The sky was burning with the soft pink and silver of a cloudless summer dawn. The heavy, bowed grasses splashed him to the knees. All over the marsh, snow-on-the-mountain, globed with dew, made cool sheets of silver, and the swamp milk-weed spread its flat, raspberry-coloured clusters. There was an almost religious purity about the fresh morning air, the tender sky, the grass and flowers with the sheen of early dew upon them. There was in all living things something limpid and joyous-like the wet morning call of the birds, flying up through the unstained atmosphere. Out of the saffron east a thin, yellow, wine-like sunshine began to gild the fragrant meadows and the glistening tops of the grove. Neil wondered why he did not often come over like this, to see the day before men and their activities had spoiled it, while the morning star was still unsullied, like a gift handed down from the heroic ages.
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.
In the stanzas of Elizabeth Bishop’s poem, the speaker very honestly observes the scenes from outside her apartment. From her point of view, she sees a both a bird and a dog in the process of sleeping. The speaker views these animals as having simple lives unbothered by endless questions or worries. Instead, the two live peaceful, uninterrupted existences, rising every morning knowing that “everything is answered” (ln. 22). However, the speaker lives in contrast to this statement instead anxiously awaiting the next day where uncertainty is a likely possibility. Unlike the dog and the bird, the speaker cannot sit passively by as the world continues in its cycle and she carries a variety of emotions, such as a sense of shame. It is evident here that the speaker has gone through or is currently undergoing some sort of struggle. When she states that “Yesterday brought to today so lightly!” she does so in longing for the world to recognize her for her issues by viewing the earth’s graces as so light of actions, and in doing so, she fails to recognize that she can no longer comprehend the beauty of nature that it offers her. In viewing the light hitting the trees as “gray light streaking each bare branch” (ln. 11), she only sees the monotony of the morning and condescends it to merely “another tree” (ln. 13.) To her, the morning is something
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
She describes the September morning as “mild, benignant, yet with a keener breath than the summer months.” She then goes on to describe the field outside her window, using word choice that is quite the opposite of words that would be used to describe a depressing story. She depicts the exact opposite of death, and creates a feeling of joy, happiness, and life to the world outside her room. After this, she goes into great detail about the “festivities” of the rooks among the treetops, and how they “soared round the treetops until it looked as if a vast net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the air”. There is so much going on around her that “it was difficult to keep the eyes strictly turned upon the book.” Descriptions like these are no way to describe a seemingly depressing story about a moth, but by using these, joyful descriptions, Woolf connects everything happening outside to a single strand of energy. These images set a lively tone for the world around her, and now allow her to further introduce the moth into the story.
Two forlorn leaves cling to the highest branch of a great oak as winter approaches. Nearly all of the others have fallen, and the second leaf wonders if “we know anything about ourselves when we're down there” (Salten 105). Both know that their time on the branch grows short. The first comforts its friend with recollections of warm summer breezes and the promise that many leaves will come after them, and then, still more. The first leaf is troubled itself now, and gently tells her friend to say no more for a while. After several hours of silence, a cold wind gusts, and the second leaf is torn from the branch, just as she began to speak, leaving the first alone in the cold and dark, with no one to comfort or be comforted by (Salten 105-110).
"I thought now was as a good a time as any", I replied, "I thought that since you were already with me that I should get you something. I know how much you like listening to that jazz band, so I thought I would get you a radio so you could listen to it whenever you wanted to." Her eyes lit up and her jaw dropped. She was so blown away she could barely thank me.
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
He was surprised when she said, “He didn’t tell you about me?” At this point he was very confused because he didn’t know what in the world she was talking about, so he asked her, ‘What are you talking about.
Inside the nicely decorated room with taupe walls just the perfect hint of beige, lie colorful accessories with incredible stories waiting to be told. A spotless, uninteresting window hangs at the end of the room. Like a silent watchman observing all the mysterious characteristics of the area. The sheer white curtains cascade silently in the dim lethargic room. In the presence of this commotion, a sleepy, dormant, charming room sits waiting to be discovered. Just beyond the slightly pollen and dust laden screens, the sun struggles to peak around the edges of the darkness to cast a bright, enthusiastic beam of light into the world that lies beyond the spotless double panes of glass. Daylight casts a dazzling light on the various trees and flowers in the woods. The leaves of fall, showcasing colors of orange, red, and mustard radiate from the gold inviting sunshine on a cool fall day. A wonderful world comes to life outside the porthole. Colossal colors littered with, abundant number of birds preparing themselves for the long awaited venture south, and an old toad in search of the perfect log to fall asleep in for the winter.
Because the summer residence of the monks of Waltham once stood there, the local villagers thought that the spirits of monks rang those bells and watched over the forest. I lingered there for a while, listening to the gentle sound of a stream as it flowed over the corks nearby. I also listened to the bells, but the bells did not ring for me. Maybe it was because I was an outsider. & nbsp;... ... middle of paper ... ...& nbsp; After my brief rest, I spotted a ridge covered in brilliant purple heather.
As the bushes and brush grew more solid I began to ponder. Will I make it through this forest tonight or will I be taken in by the thick of the mystery? Sounds from sluggish foot steps caused a vibration around me that lead me to stop in my place and listen closely. Could this forest be haunted or was I just over exaggerating? I started to get very nervous by this time. “It will be just fine,” I told myself. I am just imagining things. I continued my journey through the forest but negative thoughts were running through my l...
The sunless sky covered the woods over the treetops which created a canopy over my head. The crimson and auburn foliage was a magnificent sight, as this was the season known as Fall. There was a gentle breeze, creating the single sound of rustling leaves. The leaves appeared as though they were dying to fall out of the tree and join their companions on the forest floor. Together with pine needles and other flora the leaves formed a thick springy carpet for me to walk upon.
...e roots of the old tree, the star’s light was intercepted by green shoots and small, crinkled leaves— last season’s seeds. Tiny children of the mother tree, they were doomed to live out their lives under her suffocating blanket of branches. Now as they gazed upward, innumerable points of light gazed back. A light wind rustled the miniature stalks of the saplings, blowing the new debris around in short-lived eddies that danced softly through the night.