Fuchsia blossoms sashayed down from the trees. The spring sun was shining famously, the mid-morning had been packed full of that special kind of all-consuming daylight that the goddess really ought to be charging them all for. Able held a private fondness for days like this, when the island was bloated with warmth and sweet scents, like a solicitous old bawd flaunting its best tricks, desperate to please. It was next to nothing compared to the walloping uproar of a good downpour, but it sure as hellfire beat the winter snow, icicles tickling in the back of her throat and winds cold enough to break bones. She was strutting her lengthy, breakneck stride down Vela District, an oak door slung under each arm. Her black denim pant cuffs were in ill repair, frayed and winding behind her like little dirt trails. She was dressed down in her shirt-sleeves, a black and white polka-dot jumper tied around her waist and patches of sweat mucking yellow half-moons under the armpits of her white tee. The muscles of her arms and neck were taut and bristling from the effort of lugging the hardwood slabs through town, and she was telling herself over and over to pick up the pace and stop lagging. Because the sun wasn't about to wait around for her all day, and it was only a short hop on down to the workshop in Cygnus. And, mercifully, the streets had been crystal clear thus far, but there was no telling who might pop up and foil her plans. Daylight robbery wasn't her usual gig, but all those blasted rules and regulations had finally ground down her last nerve. The forest, it always came back to that damned forest, all those beautiful, glorious trees ripe for the ax. She was impatient and young, she couldn't wait around forever, resting on her laure... ... middle of paper ... ..... Oh double crumbs. "Heyyyy there Topaz." She waved sheepishly at the woman lounging in a beanbag chair half a room away. She never knew exactly what to make of the seamstress; she was a fine-faced woman of twenty-five-odd years with hair as green and luxuriously growing as jungle vines and an overbright gaze that was rather hard to meet. Able had known her since childhood, seeing her a few times during her summer trips to the island, but the age gap had rifted apart their social circles and they had never been overly close. She remembered having a puppy dog-esque crush on Topaz once, a ways ago, she might've been about twelve or so at the time, but those feelings had staled long ago, like an overtold joke. She gestured at the door jammed in the window, then scratched the back of her head. "Uh. Yeah. It's stuck. Sorry. Architectural malfunction, you know how it is.
It isn’t long before another interruption comes cluttering up to country road toward the Allen Ranch. This time it comes in the form of a worn wagon, drawn by two mismatched horses, and a large rugged man sitting behind the reins. Elisa appears to be somewhat static as she introduces herself to the peddler, making it known that he is drawing her away from her duties. But the peddler, who is just trying to find something to fix-up for money, sparks a vigor in Elisa, and she suddenly gains interest in everything he says, as benign as it may be. This peddler, who merely altered Elisa’s routine, has immediately altered her life. The change in routine is the first in many years for her...
“No thank you, sir,” Anne said, twisting out of his reach and hopping from the train. “There’s knack to holding it, if you don’t mind.” She glanced over the near empty platform. “It appears I’m to wait for my ride.” The thought wasn’t oppressive. Avonlea was a variable paradise. Gone were the wastelands of the outer provinces, replaced by lush grasses, strong and tall green trees, and a bright blue sky as far as the eye could see. Bees hummed and birds chirped amongst the treetops. Instead of recycled oxygen, here the air smelled of sunshine and warm apple pie. “Train’s early,” the stationmaster said. “Do you wish to go inside to the lady’s waiting room?” Hope lodged firmly in Anne’s heart. “I do believe I’ll wait outside. Right there on that bench.” She grinned. “So much more scope for the imagination, don’t you agree?” “I suppose…” the man muttered, but his doubt was lost on Anne, who’d already plunked down on the bench and was staring up into the heavens with unrestrained joy. She had done it. She’d left pain and terror behind and stepped into the light. Nothing would take this new world from her. No thing. And no one. A tremulous smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Avonlea had a new protector. Lord save them
Her bedroom was closed but with an “open window” (463), with a roomy armchair she sank into. As she is looking out the window she sees “the tops of trees,” “new spring life,” “breath of rain was in the air,” and she could hear a peddler below in the street, calling to customers, and “patches of blue sky showing” (463). The author depicts in the previous sentence that when she uses “breath of rain was in the air,” rain is more like a cleansing so she could be feeling a sign of relief but can’t recognize it. She sat with her head on the cushion “quite motionless,” except when a sob came in her throat and “shook her,” like a child “continuously sobbing” (463) in its dreams. The author uses imagery in the previous
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
The story opens by embracing the reader with a relaxed setting, giving the anticipation for an optimistic story. “…with the fresh warmth of a full summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green (p.445).”
I prepared myself for the upcoming adventurous day. I set out along a less-traveled path through the woods leading to the shore. I could hear every rustle of the newly fallen leaves covering the ground. The brown ground signaled the changing of seasons and nature's way of preparing for the long winter ahead. Soon these leaves would be covered with a thick layer of snow. The leaves still clinging to the trees above displayed a brilliant array of color, simultaneously showing the differences of each and the beauty of the entire forest.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. ( This description of the scenery is very happy, usually not how one sees the world after hearing devastating news of her husbands death.)
We were now at the bus stop. The sun had replenished and the sky full of glee. There was trail next to the bus stop, she started walking through it. The trees intertwined like arches and the shadows created an ominous feeling. As she walked through the forest, her whole body had a calm aura.
...ots her memory, the blossoms her dreams, and the branches her vision. After each unsuccessful marriage, she waits for the springtime pollen to be sprinkled over her life once again. Even after Tea Cake's death, she has a garden of her own to sit and revel in.
...n running again. The traffic around him thinned as he closed the distance, and the street became desolate and broken. Dave looked around. He saw his office in the distance, and the bustling and busy street that he had left behind. Down the road in the opposite direction it was just as busy, but here, between the two thresholds of civilization, it was deserted. Dave starred at the lamp for a long while. It sat there, flickering, and nothing else. Finally he stepped in the light. It was immediately cold. The snow picked up and swirled about him in a frenzy. He gathered his jacket about him, and began shuffling toward his run down office. He was more tired than he had ever been, and he was glad that it was night again.
The wind whispered outside my flower curtains. My Rosemary garden swayed to the noiseless tune. I sit quietly watching their soft movement, the flowers I worked hard to nurse. The rest of my yard remained parched, with time it had given defeat to the hot Alabama sky.I glared at the cracked dirt, cursing it for giving in to the pressure, praying I won't do the same .I sip the cool lemon ice tea, the cubes of ice brush on my dry lips.
The door opened. She stood in the breach surveying the parking lot. Satisfied she turned, locked the door and hurried across the deserted lot to her car, a red Toyota with more rust than red. The tap tap of her high heels beat a drum on the cracked asphalt. The moon scurried behind the clouds as if to hide its face in horror
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.
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.
It was late summer. The weather was gradually changing to autumn, which was noticeably seen on the leaves that were starting to turn orange. The sun was out, but it wasn’t too hot or too cold outside. In fact, it was actually soothing; the cold wind blowing, paired with the warm sun shining above.