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Importance of silence and solitude in childhood development
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Open Fields
When I think back to the days when I was a child, I think about all of my wonderful childhood memories. Often I wish to go back, back to that point in life when everything seemed simpler. Sometimes I think about it too much, knowing I cannot return. Yet, there is still one place I can count on to bring me back to that state of mind, my grandparents' house.
There is something to be said about lying on one's back in an open field hour upon hour, staring up at a vast, blue sky. With no one around and not another house for miles, it is a great place to be alone, to listen. In the country, I can pick up all the wonderful sounds of nature commonly lost amidst the bustle of the city. The wind speaks as it blows across the land, whistling through the trees. Crickets rub their wings in song for anyone to hear. An unseen friend scurries beneath the fallen leaves, as an owl above questions who is there.
Heading back towards the house, I soak in all the beauty of the surrounding landscape. There are towering groves of trees, creek beds lined with wildflowers emitting delightful fragrances, and sunsets that astound. Still, I walk cautiously. For all of nature’s beauty, trouble can still take form out here, whether it is running into a slithering snake or stumbling across a prickly thistle. Looking further into the distance, I spot the horses gracefully galloping along, their sleek manes dancing across their powerful bodies. As I pass the pond, I skip a stone across the water and I think about all the "real" stories the pond could tell of the ones that got away.
Along side its banks I hear a familiar sound, as the bullfrogs' bellows lead the way for nightfall. The night will bring the cool country air, and with it the thick aroma of the wood-burning stoves. On some evenings, if I am lucky enough, some warm apple-butter jam may even be waiting for me back at the house.
Now that I am older, I look for changes. I have grown to expect them. My grandparents will soon be gone, but the memories of the land they live on and I grew up on will always be with me.
Looking at our society and my busy life filled with tests, deadlines, work schedules, and demands for my time coming at me from every direction, I almost with I could go back to that place where time and concerns for the outside world were of little or no consequence. How I love to remember, to relive the memories of my adolescence. My world was perfect then.
In the trees the birds stopped singing, and gradually quietened down until silence had completely fallen over the hills. They sat in their nests, motionless, like small figures, lifeless. All could be heard was the wind, and the occasional tumble of leaves onto the rocky surface beneath.
At other times, nature can be a source of solace for those who have suffered. Following the death of Gladys and Kate, Grainier looks to the horizon to seek comfort from his crushing loss. “All his life Robert Grainier would remember vividly the burned valley at sundown, the most dream-like business he’d ever witnessed waking – the brilliant pastels of the last light overhead, some clouds...
Jim is an innocent young man, living on the coast of Queensland. In this peaceful town, everybody is happy and at peace with themselves and with nature. The people enjoy the simple pleasures of life - nature, birds, and friendly neighbourly conversations. Their days are filled with peaceful walks in the bush, bird watching and fishing. Jim and his friends especially enjoy the serenity of the sanctuary and the wonders of nature that it holds.
“I wanted to get out and walk eastward toward the park through the soft twilight but each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild strident argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
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.
I don't have a lot of fantastic memories of childhood. There were no spectacular family adventures, no unique family projects that taught some sort of moral lesson, no out-of-the-ordinary holidays. We ate family meals together, but most of the time the children and adults lived in different worlds. The kids went to school, did homework, and played; the adults worked. I was lucky, though. When I wanted a little of both worlds, I could always turn to Grandpa.
Sitting in the back seat between two towering piles of clothes and snacks we drive up the abandoned streets of Adell. I see vast open fields of corn and dense wooded forest filled with life, along with the occasional, towering grain house. We pull into a dry, dusty, driveway of rock and thriving, overgrown weeds. We come up to an aged log cabin with a massive crab apple tree with its sharp thorns like claws. The ancient weeping willow provides, with is huge sagging arms, shade from the intense rays of the sun. Near the back of the house there is a rotten, wobbly dock slowly rotting in the dark blue, cool water. Near that we store our old rusted canoes, to which the desperate frogs hop for shelter. When I venture out to the water I feel the thick gooey mud squish through my toes and the fish mindlessly try to escape but instead swim into my legs. On the lively river banks I see great blue herring and there attempt to catch a fish for their dinner. They gracefully fly with their beautiful wings arching in the sun to silvery points.
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.
Being invited to a friend’s house the other day, I began to get excited about the journey through the woods to their cabin. The cabin, nestled back in the woods overlooking a pond, is something that you would dream about. There is a winding trail that takes you back in the woods were their cabin sits. The cabin sits on top of a mountain raised up above everything, as if it was sitting on the clouds.
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.
A State Forest & nbsp; Last autumn, while on a trip, I decided to walk through a State Forest. This huge forest enriches the countryside not far from town and was a place where Indians held hunting rights until recently. Little streams, ancient trees, shaded paths, and hidden places are some of the physical attributes that make the State Forest an enchanting place. & nbsp; 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 little when I first started my journey.
The air is really fresh, and the wind is comfortable. Grandma usually opened the window during the daytime; I still remembered that feeling when the sunshine came in house and scatter. I walking among those numerous grand trees and admire colored leaves on the trees and on the ground. I miss that feeling of calmness and stability of the world around. I wish I could return the reality of those feelings once more. Memories in mind and never forget about happiness of staying in my grandmother’s house. Grandparent’s time-honored gift to their grandchildren is their unconditional love, unfettered by schedules, routines or commitments. They reinforced their grandchildren’s sense of security and self-value.
Fortunately, I wake every morning to the most beautiful sun lit house. I sit on my porch sipping coffee, while I drink in an atmosphere that steals my breath away. Rolling hills lay before me that undulate until they crash into golden purple mountains. Oh how they are covered in spectacular fauna, ever blooming foliage, and trees that are heavy with pungent fruit. Green it is always so green here at my house. Here where the air lays heavy and cool on my skin as does the striking rays of the sun upon my cheeks. I know in my soul why I choose to be here every day. Pocketed in all the nooks and crannies of these valleys and hills are stately homes, rich with architecture resplendent. Diversity is the palate here; ...
..., nature removes his stresses of life and provides peace and comfort. The poet keeps repeating“home” to emphasize on the point that harmony can only be found and felt while at home.“oh! Leave me to myself,” the writer is all alone in nature with no one around to console him.When the writer is sad, he prefers isolating himself but being surrounded by nature which takes away his pain and sorrows. It is clear from the poem that the writer experiences some relief when surrounded by nature and it’s only in the beauty of nature the writer can spend time thinking about.The poet successfully conveys nature as harmonious