Dusk has fallen, and now it’s just starting to penetrate the canopy of the forest. The trees seem to be dancing to the music of the evening breeze and the gentle rustle of leafs compliment the overall atmosphere. The songs of birds have been totally replaced by an orchestra of crickets and other insects, and I seem to be their sole audience.
My eyes peer into the gloom trying to make out what lies ahead, without much success. Soon I realize that I have to let my other senses take over in order continue on. I tread onto what seems to be a sea of moss that covers a large portion of the forest floor, forming a thick green carpet. Each of my steps leaves a green depression, which quickly fill up and erase all evidence of my passing . The soft texture of this carpet invites me to discard my shoes and I do so without much of a second thought. The green sea quickly engulfs my feet and I indulge on the velvety texture that brushes them. Reluctantly, I leave my carpet of moss and make an unsuccessful attempt to find my shoes.
I venture onto a thin trail that is suffocated with undergrowth and slowly, start making my way down it. I do not seem to feel any discomfort due to the lack of shoes on the contrary the feeling of the soft moist earth under my feet is an unforgettable experience.
The stars are just only starting to peer through the intricate patchwork of leafs and light patches of the forest floor. Fireflies dance like fairies and ignite tiny patches of light, which randomly appears and then suddenly disappears. I stop for a moment, captivated by this dance’s beauty, and then I realize that I have made little progress since I came onto the path. My attention shifts back too my walk and I continue on.
The aroma of pine peers into my nostrils and attempts to hypnotize me. Its spell is abruptly broken by the unmistakable sound of flowing water. I get lured to a spot where the tall giants of the forest have parted to make way for a small stream. The reflection caused my the moon’s light causes its surface to emit a queer silver glow which causes the trunks of nearby trees to look like foreboding dark phantoms. Even in this light, I am able to make out the array of smooth pebbles that litter the stream’s bed.
Walking into the wilderness is similar to a man entering the world naked. For one should enter the wilderness while walking (768). He should also leave everything that he has been accustomed to behind.
I stepped into the middle of the road and just stood there, the lights stretching in either direction, glowing in the deep chilly air. I could see my own breath, could feel my own warmth as it formed right there in front of me. Behind me, our house looked dark, faint lingering of I'd walk a million miles, and I wasn't even sure if it was really playing or if I was imagining the familiar, the same way a bright light remain when you close your eyelids, the way I imagine that the sight of an eclipse would burn its image into your eyes forever(pg.
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.
“The wind had blown off, leaving a loud bright night with wings beating in he trees and a
I am sitting in the passenger side as my dad is driving, and we are on our way to my grandpa's land which is located about 25 minutes east of Dubuque. First thing we do when we get there is to finish putting on our coats, and then to grab our bows out of the back, then I close my door softly. Walking through the open field I have dead weeds and tall grass crunching under my boots, and at the end of the field we reach a barbed wire fence that we crawl under. Then we cross under a bunch of pine trees and go about 30 yards into the woods to where my tree stand sits. Then my dad tells me good luck and he heads down into the gully where his stand is located. So I then climb the 12 foot ladder and sit on the seat and put on my safety belt and get my arrow ready on the bow string. I survey the land and look for any movement, so I look to the left where there is another set of pine trees, then I look in front of me into the first set of pine trees don't see anything yet. Then I hear a sound of crunching leaves and immediately look to my right and sure enough there is a big doe getting ready to cross the fence 15 yards away.
I awoke in the forest. It was evening, the sun had long set. The smell of the woods surrounded me, almost suffocating me with the musk. I gazed before me as I stood, no lights, no way to see the path. I was lost, the thick trees blocking any light that might guide me. I began to walk slowly, watching each step carefully. The silence pressed against my ears, it was deafening. My eyes began to adjust to the pressing darkness with each step, and I noticed I was in a large clearing. Fear gripped me, how I gotten here or, why, I did not know.
Flannery O'Connor is a very complex writer in terms of her use of symbolism in addition to the elements of the grotesque and blackly humorous. O'Connor’s story, "A View of the Woods," is symbolically complicated. The story focuses on the relationship of Mary Fortune Pitts, a little girl, and her grandfather, Mr Fortune. The story is one of conflict that mounts to tragedy in the end. The conflict is basically between Mary Fortune and her grandfather over the sale of some ground that Mary Fortune finds important for her father's grazing of his cattle and for the view of the woods. You might look carefully at the woods in this story because they assume a symbolic significance similar to the woods in "Greenleaf."
Stately pines towered over the wandering Little Meadow Creek. The stream was almost dry; many rocks revealed along the bank and rivulet bed. Be that as it may, Conrad Reed, a brazen 12-year-old, chose a Sunday in 1799 that he'd preferably angle in this shallow spot then go to chapel. As the kid sat tight for a nibble, he saw a yellow shake projecting from the water. It was an abnormal shake, dissimilar to the typical quartz and slate he found in the field. He pulled the stone from the stream quaint little innit home.
One day, there was a man, walking through the woods to get back home. The man had quite a way to go to get back home but, it was getting late, and all he had was a flashlight, a small knife, and a video recorder. The man was hearing weirder and weirder noises as he was walking, he was also starting to see weird shapes in the distance, almost as if it was a tall thin man looking at him with tentacle like things coming out of his back, and spreading in the air.
As the first rays of the sun peak over the horizon, penetrating the dark, soft light illuminates the mist rising up from the ground, forming an eerie, almost surreal landscape. The ground sparkles, wet with dew, and while walking from the truck to the barn, my riding boots soak it in. The crickets still chirp, only slower now. They know that daytime fast approaches. Sounds, the soft rustling of hooves, a snort, and from far down the aisle a sharp whinny that begs for breakfast, inform me that the crickets are not the only ones preparing for the day.
Her spry, Timberland-clad foot planted itself upon a jagged boulder, motionless, until her calf muscles tightened and catapulted her small frame into the next stride. Then Sara's dance continued, her feet playing effortlessly with the difficult terrain. As her foot lifted from the ground, compressed mint-colored lichen would spring back into position, only to be crushed by my immense boot, struggling to step where hers had been. My eyes fixated on the forest floor, as fallen trees, swollen roots, and unsteady rocks posed constant threats for my exhausted body. Without glancing up I knew what was ahead: the same dense, impenetrable green that had surrounded us for hours. My throat prickled with unfathomable thirst, as my long-empty Nalgene bottle slapped mockingly at my side. Gnarled branches snared at my clothes and tore at my hair, and I blindly hurled myself after Sara. The portage had become a battle, and the ominously darkening sky raised the potential for casualties. Gritting my teeth with gumption, I refused to stop; I would march on until I could no longer stand.
We took off down a path covered softly with moss and tiny pink flowers. Off to the side of the path were endless green trees and pants all nestled together to make one beautiful piece of art. After a while, we reached a sparkling, clear brook. It was about twelve feet deep and nearly three feet deep. The path wound right along side the water. Down the brook a ways, we came to a deep water hole where the fish danced in the swirling current. I noticed the brook was beginning to flow a little faster now, and I could hear the steady, rushing noise of the water falling over the cliffs that lied ahead. We walked to the cliff's edge to look over at the crystal clear lagoon that lay below us. The falls dropped about thirty feet down before it met the pool of water below. To the sides of the waterfall were moss-covered rocks, ferns and other green plants, growing from the crevices of the cliffs.
I wandered leisurely along the shadowy paths, enjoying the peaceful surroundings. With only the songs of birds for company, I felt completely isolated from the crowds and traffic as I walked over the deep carpet of leaves. It had begun to rain a litt le when I first started my journey. However, small patches of sunshine soon began to filter through the giant oaks, promising that the rest of may day would be pleasant.
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.