I have walked through jungles where the light of the shadows can make even the biggest creature afraid. Where I saw trees that were Triassic-tall with heads as thick as a redwood’s. They tower over everything, silent and brooding in their leafy canopy. Their trunks were as thick as barrels and reached upwards like zombies coming alive. Hanging from them were beards of moss, green and swinging with a lazy movement. Pools of shadow formed under the trees and dark eyes, glazed with hunger, hid in the black darkness. In the dark, webs shimmered like the stars, startling man and beast unaware at night. All the while, an amphitheatre of sounds follows you through the jungle. You have never heard such a infuriating mix of whoops, squawks, screeches and wails. …show more content…
This wasn’t the soft, quiet rain that you might read about in a book. It was Noahs-Ark-type rain, like the spring of the gods had overflowed. When it was the worst, it hammered at the cretaceous ferns. At times when it was quiet, it sounded like a hose was sprinkling nails onto the ferns instead of water. Overflowed streams covered the bottom of the forest creeping their way up. Animal cries, barely hearable, made the backup song of the jungle After finishing, the jungle became a paradise on earth. Flowers bloomed under the tree’s making it look like a rainbow on the ground.
Yes. I have been in many jungles but I have only ran through one. I will never forget that moment. The jungle had a distinctive smell after a evening of downpour. It was a jasmine aroma, an aroma mixed with the must of rotting logs. Light filtered through the mist with a spectral aura as I came upon a waterfall of colossal size and beauty. Pool’s were as clear as a diamond and as polished as a gemstone. A great flow of water fed this pool and the spray it threw up burned with a cinnamon colored light when the sunbeams shone through
A familiar sound, yet somehow different. Blinding rays of sun pound on any bare skin that it can find. Out of breath, yet every time a breath is taken it tastes somehow more fresh than those that were taken just hours ago. Water has never tasted as good as it does now. Not a single tree blocks my sight of the vast landscape surrounding. As far as the human eye can register are planes and smaller mountains that seem like nothing compared to Humphrey’s peak; appearing almost as if they could be devoured in a single bite if wanting a light snack. The mountains dissipate into the far land; the decreased visibility makes the far land around me seem like a ghostly
the trees in the forest. The people of the distant town of Silvery Moon watch
Jungles are green and full of life, yet there is not “any green thing whatever, in Packingtown” (68). In a jungle there is a wide array of multiple hues and contrasts of
The sound of gravel cracking against the shoes of the travelers awakens a bird in her nest. With undeniable excitement, she perches up in the large branch of acacia tree to tap the other slumbering birds with her music. A few seconds later, a chorus of soft high-pitched voices resonates in the entire forest. Along with the birds, the cicadas join. Then the trees rustle their leaves to acknowledge the presence of their visitors.
The darkness reveals a disturbing sound that startles the curious tribesmen. Albeit frightening, the distressing bellow does not alarm the pygmies; they are familiar with this predator. However, its presence is unusual for this part of the jungle. Nonetheless, there is another resonance troubling the natives, one they are unable to distinguish.
... wandering through innumerable tamarac and arborvitae swamps, and forests of maple, basswood, ash, elm, balsam, fir, pine, spruce, hemlock, rejoicing in their bound wealth and strength and beauty, climbing the trees,
The Gibson’s universe presents a world where humans fight to survive in urban jungle, where the most dangerous predators are the
Imagine walking down an ancient path amidst a forest of tangled and twisted trees, some of which have existed since before a time even great grandparents can remember. The air echoes with sounds of life, and the fragrance is that of cedar or juniper… or something not quite either. The living things that dwell here, bridge a gap in time that many are totally unaware of and for the reasons about to be explained, may never become so. The beauty that surrounds this place is unexplainable in the tongue of man, yet its presence can be felt by all who choose to behold it. At least for now…
Ever since human beings took it upon themselves to no longer sleep under the stars and build more civilized shelters, we have slowly began to leave nature behind us. For some reason though, we continue to feel this drive, almost a need to return to nature and experience the untouched land that our distant relatives’ once called home. For thousands of years as humans began to modernize we would leave our primitive selves behind, but still the cold dark wilderness would continue to call to our imaginations with its mystery. It is not surprising that with all the unknown land around these primitive villages; that they would tell stories of great beats and monsters that lurked in the unchartered forest nearby.
The forest knew I meant it no harm and welcomed me as her impermanent guest.
While teling his story, the monster recalls how angry he got sometimes while noticing nature. “The colds stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their branches above me.”
As I saunter onto the school field, I survey the premises to behold people in coats, shielding themselves from winter's blues. The sun isn't out yet, but the place bursting with life and exuberance, with people gliding across the ice covered floor almost cat-like. The field is effervescent and despite the dire conditions, the field seems to have taken on a life of its own. The weather is bad and the ice seems to burn the skin if touched, yet the mood is still euphoric. The bare shrubs and plants about the place look like they've been whipped by Winter himself. The air is frosty and at every breath the sight of steam seems to be present. A cold, cruel northerly wind blows across the playground and creates unrest amongst some. Crack! The crisp sound of leaves is heard, as if of ice splitting and hissing. Squirrels are seen trying to find a point of safety, scurrying about the bare trees that lie around the playground. Mystery and enigma clouds the playing field, providing a sense of anticipation about the place. Who is going to be the person to spoil the moment? To kill the conversation?
There are birds in the jungle that sometimes wake up the main character with their cries and native people who live nearby that bring him food. Fire and two boatmen who show up later in the story are also realistic elements. The magical, or fantastic, elements make the story take a completely different route than what it would have without them. Rabkin says that "the truly fantastic occurs when the ground rules of a narrative are forced to make a 180 degrees reversal" (18-19). The main character "came up the bank without pushing aside (probably without feeling) the brambles which dilacerated his flesh.to the circular enclosure" and "stretched out beneath the pedestal" (25).
As if signaled by a conductor katydids begin their chirping matching the pitch of the birds in a minuet of the forest. My friends rush down the path to the falls to check on me and my hand, boots stomping and thumping with the crackle of the leaves beneath their feat, creating the percussion for the beautiful minuet. I close my eyes and imagine the conductor bringing all these obscure sounds together and making a lovely melody with the instruments of life.
On the edge of a small wood, an ancient tree sat hunched over, the gnarled, old king of a once vast domain that had long ago been turned to pasture. The great, gray knees gripped the hard earth with a solidity of purpose that made it difficult to determine just where the tree began and the soil ended, so strong was the union of the ancient bark and grainy sustenance. Many years had those roots known—years when the dry sands had shriveled the outer branches under a parched sun, years when the waters had risen up, drowning those same sands in the tears of unceasing time.