The Beauty of Nature 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. 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. Many sands had the tree known; many green neighbors had come and gone, yet the tree remained. The mighty roots had endured such whips and scorns as had been cast upon it, but the old tree had survived, a pillar of twisted iron and horn against the now sickly sky. In the waning light of evening, the tree waited. In the deep crevices between the tufts of grass, the shadows stalked slowly upward, submerging the sandy earth in an inky sea. The sun sank until only its last, thin razor of light glimmered over the fields. Time stretched its ancient joint... ... middle of paper ... ...e roots of the old tree, the star’s light was intercepted by green shoots and small, crinkled leaves— last season’s seeds. Tiny children of the mother tree, they were doomed to live out their lives under her suffocating blanket of branches. Now as they gazed upward, innumerable points of light gazed back. A light wind rustled the miniature stalks of the saplings, blowing the new debris around in short-lived eddies that danced softly through the night. Then, slowly at first, but with ever increasing intensity, a small glimmer appeared on the glossy leaves. Through the whispering blades of grass, a brilliant fire arose from the depths turning the lingering water droplets into liquid silver that dripped from expectant leaves and flowed gurgling into shallow puddles, bathing the young trees with the succulent taste of a new day. And the golden morning sun rose.
After several miles of tromping through the thick, slimy mud, I reached the hill with the tree upon it. Panting, I raced towards the hill and begin to climb it. My foot slid on the slick ground, but I persevered. I reached the top of the hill and felt disappointed. Trees were supposed to be surrounded by other plants and teeming with wildlife. Not this tree. The mud I trudged through covered the hill, coating the tree’s roots. There were no other plants. In fact, as I looked around, I noticed tha...
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…
3. Chapter 1, page 5, #3: “Moving through the soaked, coarse grass I began to examine each one closely, and finally identified the tree I was looking for by means of certain small scars rising along its trunk, and by a limb extending over the river, and another thinner limb growing near it.
The author explains the metaphor of the tree page 18. He uses it afterward to introduce each paragraph for pedagogic purposes. Ibid, p18.
In “The Tree,” the speaker talks to a tree and express thanks for its “delightful shade” (1). The speaker goes on to talk of the others who benefited from the existence of the tree and gave it something back in return, such as the birds singing, travelers praising it’s welcome shade, and nymphs making crowns from its blooms. The speaker wonders what she can do to repay the shade given her by the tree. She decides to wish something for the tree’s future. She wishes, “To future ages may’st thou stand / Untouch’d by the rash workman’s hand” (19 – 20). Ultimately, she wishes something such as “some bright hearth” (32) be made from the tree at its death.
Canadian political scientist Mathew Kerby notes that the Canadian prime minister possess the power to appoint cabinet ministers to his/her liking. Of course, the power to elect the governing body of Canada based on one’s own opinion of what Canada should be is absolutely telling as to just how powerful the position of Prime Minister of Canada is. The Prime Minister should not possess the exclusive power to elect the Federal Cabinet of Canada.
Two forlorn leaves cling to the highest branch of a great oak as winter approaches. Nearly all of the others have fallen, and the second leaf wonders if “we know anything about ourselves when we're down there” (Salten 105). Both know that their time on the branch grows short. The first comforts its friend with recollections of warm summer breezes and the promise that many leaves will come after them, and then, still more. The first leaf is troubled itself now, and gently tells her friend to say no more for a while. After several hours of silence, a cold wind gusts, and the second leaf is torn from the branch, just as she began to speak, leaving the first alone in the cold and dark, with no one to comfort or be comforted by (Salten 105-110).
While it seems that numbers are steadily increasing, to legalize marijuana, there are still many states who have yet to legalize the use of medical marijuana. Many of the public feel that, due to the recent legalization of medical marijuana, the U.S. is a step closer to legalization marijuana for use by the general public. Choosing to legalize marijuana for the general public will cause an increase in users and put users health at risk, both mentally and physically.
Maori are the indigenous population of New Zealand and encompass only fifteen percent of New Zealand’s total population (Becares, Cormack & Harris,2013). In recent years there has been a decrease
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.
Surrounding trees snaked from the soil into the arms of the obscure sky, the serrated wood conceiving faces in agony. The individuals fond of superstitions would whisper to you that the trees were actually in pain, mustering up noises enough to rupture the eardrums. Not a blade of green grass or life, for that matter, grew
“They had passed autumn afternoons when they were nine years old in the hollowed-out base of a cedar tree, where they sprawled on the ground looking out at the rain as it pummeled the sword ferns and ivy. At school they were stran...
...g And Learning An Indigenous Language Through Its Narratives: Māori In Aotearoa/New Zealand." Junctures: The Journal For Thematic Dialogue 6 (2006): 107-116. Academic Search Premier. Web. 8 Dec. 2013.
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.
The tree is very much like a queen, wearing its dress of leaves. I would not reach out and touch it—because it would be rude. At the shoulders of the tree—the branches fork off into three directions. The thick branches hold up more green leaves—the delicate kind—shaping the head of the tree like a mushroom. The tree resembles a green Queen Amadalia—young and bright. When I looked up at her, you see the sunlight reflect off her hair—the leaves—creating a peaceful glow. It blurs everything, however, and I had to stop looking. The wind does blow the leaves, but it is so lightly that you can barely tell. The fountain near by spurts out water in this direction.