The Gazebo was once white, but after many battles with the weather, had turned into a light shade of tan. During the summer the surrounding mulberry trees would be laden with ripe, succulent fruit. The sweet juice from the berries stained everything a deep indigo, from hands of children to the young, dewy grass carpeting the ground beneath the trees. Their sepia branches stretched upwards trying to reach the clouds as the sea of leaves whispered in the gentle breeze. Children climbed the trees as if they were a natural jungle gym, easily swinging from one thick branch to another, while below these broad limbs, adults watched their children vigilantly, making sure if one fell they would not hurt themselves on the unforgiving ground only a few
Filban said the home had a yard that was overgrown. “The trees and bushes were overgrown, and the house was dark,” Filban said. “And the windows were covered.” She and her sister slept in the front bedroom of the house. She remembers the bedroom having a large, floor-to-ceiling window. She said you could look out and see the wra...
Day's curious nature made her want to see first-hand the conditions of life for those who were poor. She adventured through the poor district and looked into the houses and looked into the people, both containing very depressing things inside them. Day did this a lot, and as she did it she would imagine the characters in The Jungle, and imagined their existence in this very alive and very real neighborhood. It would become her childhood that she wou...
“Don’t judge a book by its cover.” This is a phrase that has been uttered numerous times to children by their parents. This aphorism has been used to not only apply to books but also people. In The Black Walnut Tree by Mary Oliver, the speaker faces a conflict between the literal and figurative meaning of a tree in her yard. In the beginning of the poem, the mother and daughter “debate” selling the tree to “pay off their mortgage.” But with a shift from literal language to figurative language comes a symbolic representation of the tree, one that represents family heritage and their ancestors’ hard work.
When I grow up, I want to be a black gum tree. Black gum trees are known for their internal strength. Instead of dwelling on outward beauty, they spend more time focusing on their inner growth and developing their core. Only after they have achieved this goal can they produce beautiful fruits that draw animals near to them. Any surfaces that the berries touch are stained as to say, “I was here and made a permanent difference.” After they have utilized their outward influences, they use their internal scars and hollow places to protect the animals surrounding around it. If human lives were to reflect the concepts of the black gum tree, governments, individuals, and communities would be radically transformed. While this is a beautiful image, communities will never fully reach this aspiration. Sandra Cisneros shows the positive and negative effect of community on human growth in The House on Mango Street when Esperanza subconsciously reads the four skinny trees as a stand-in for herself.
Three little boys watch wearily and fearfully as their sister shimmies quickly up a tree to peer through the window of a dilapidated Southern farmhouse. Our attention focuses neither on her reaction to the festivities commencing in the house, nor on the danger suspended nervously in the dusky air as the tiny image worms up the tree trunk. Sensing the distress apparent in the boys’ words and actions, our eyes rivet to the same thing that fills their faces with apprehension—the dark and muddied stain of filth firmly planted on the bottom of the little girl’s underpants.
In ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ Lee presents the tree as a way to allude to something that it’s not: Boo Radley. The tree itself is on the Radley lot, and it symbolizes Boo and him trying to communicate to the children through the knot-hole, the fact that it’s a tree is significant in that trees are deep rooted and can’t move, much like boo’s communication with the children is very limited because he doesn’t leave the house. The children do recognize his want to communicate as they write him a letter, ‘dear sir… we appreciate everything you have done for us’. When the hole gets filled with cement, it symbolizes the end of the communication; ‘tree’s dying. You plug ‘em with cement when they’re sick’ is the reason
Sometimes I think that the trouble with men is that we aren't women. One almost never sees women fight. No, that's a guy thing, a manly thing that also raises disturbing questions about what it means to be a man these days. Becoming a man comes with realizing your responsibilities in life. Becoming a man comes when you take control of your responsibilities in life for yourself and for others. If you live at home, and accept money, food, or anything else from your parents - you have no earthly idea what it takes or means to become a man. On the day that you catch the clue that electricity costs a great deal of money, and that leaving the lights on when you leave the home becomes very expensive, then one may slightly show the slow turning into the corner to manhood. On the day that you can solve tour own problems without having to call someone for help or whining to your parents, you have become a man
A passage from, “The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian” by Sherman Alexie, contrasts Junior’s memory of climbing a giant pine tree next to Turtle Lake with Junior’s journey through his ninth grade year. Junior’s memory of tree-climbing reveals his perspective on the environment, the nature of his friendship with Rowdy, and his response to challenging opportunities, reflecting his journey through his 9th grade year.
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…
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.
The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning to the four-story walk up I inhabited for the majority of my young life. Instead of the pavement surrounding my former building, the final turn of our seemingly endless journey revealed the sprawling grass expanse of a baseball field directly across from an unfamiliar driveway sloping in front of the red brick walls that eventually came to be know as home.
We slowly crept around the corner, finally sneaking a peek at our cabin. As I hopped out of the front seat of the truck, a sharp sense of loneliness came over me. I looked around and saw nothing but the leaves on the trees glittering from the constant blowing wind. Catching myself standing staring around me at all the beautiful trees, I noticed that the trees have not changed at all, but still stand tall and as close as usual. I realized that the trees surrounding the cabin are similar to the being of my family: the feelings of never being parted when were all together staying at our cabin.
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every
It’s a beautiful morning, as my group of friends and I wake up, we hear the pounding and the thrashing of the water slamming on the moss covered granite rock, I go down the eroded leaf covered pathway to fetch water just like I would do every morning, the sun had just begun to rise, the mixture of scarlet red, orange, and a bleach-like yellow beaming against the hurried water of the river that led into the waterfall shone like flakes of gold floating on top of the whitening water. The serene environment of the surrounding rocks overlooking the waterfall, the ambience of water clashing against the granite, and the aroma of the white pine filling the forest is an awe inspiring experience to all who dare make their way down the narrow and lengthy
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.