March winds replaced the biting February air and soon blew away into the cool spring air of April. When I arrived back to the pond in the Japanese garden, no spindly skeletons welcomed me into their empty winter home with their bare hands. Instead, a handful of bright green leaves waved at me as they rustled cheerfully on the trees and shrubberies whenever the wind breathed. Blotches of pale pink and purple petals dressed the trees and sprinkled the paths leading to the turtle pond. Reflecting the lively green trees on its pristine surface, the pond looked peaceful. Several dragonflies buzzed and fluttered above, peering at me with their large, jewel-colored eyes. The garden had awakened from its winter slumber to invite spring in again. The …show more content…
I curiously pondered what I would discover if I walked to the end, but I never discovered if a trail led to a creek bed or a field filled with wildflowers. Instead, I walked halfway until I decided to leave what laid there to my imagination. Truthfully, I regretted not continuing to finish my adventures, but my fear of snakes kept me from moving on. That day, I encountered a live snake sleeping in its natural habitat. After seeing the cottonmouth’s body coiled in a muddy ditch near me, I feared meeting another snake if I was not careful. Even though Maria tried to convince me to follow her through brambles and tall grasses into a wide clearing, I remained with Shams and her melodica. The coral orange and lavender wildflowers swaying in the clearing tempted me to follow though. Sauntering on the cut-out trails, Shams and I serenaded animals hidden amongst the trees with Prokofiev and Rachmaninoff. While on one particular path, a family of deer leaped quickly across our road. They jumped so gracefully and silently in the air that I stopped playing Mozart to watch them. Mosquitoes swarmed and bit my exposed skin as Shams led me to see a hole that dropped almost thirty feet to the bottom of a
“The Rattler” explores the conflicts between man and nature that seem inescapable. The narrator is taking a walk through the desert when he comes across a rattlesnake. After some thought, he decides to kill it and proceeds to violently slaughter it with a hoe. The snake fights back when provoked, but fails. The author makes the reader feel sympathy towards the snake and empathy towards the man through the personality of the snake, the point of view of the man, and the language and details regarding the setting.
When I was little, I used to stay up late at night, watching old movies with my father. He worked at night, so on his nights off, he often could not sleep. Our dad-daughter bond was, no doubt, forged by our love of old black and white and even cheesy films. It was on one of those late nights that I first saw a huge snake coiled next to a tree, draped in a glittery sheep’s fur. I am sure that my eyes were big in awe the whole time, for to this day, when I watch or even read mythological stories, I feel the same childhood awe.
It was a spring afternoon in West Florida. Janie had spent most of the day under a blossoming pear tree in the back-yard. She had been spending every minute that she could steal from her chores under that tree for the last three days. That was to say, ever since the first tiny bloom had opened. It had called her to come and gaze on a mystery. From barren brown stems to glistening leaf-buds; from the leaf-buds to snowy virginity of bloom. It stirred her tremendously. How? Why? It was like a flute song forgotten in another existence and remembered again.
Onward we walk; my master and I, until the sight of a small footbridge stops us in our tracks. With its haphazard stones that form a conglomerate arch upon which to cross, I freeze in fear. Directly beneath the bridge, I hear the interjections of water snakes hissing and slithering through the mosquito infested water. Virgil takes the lead and tests the bridge's sturdiness, signaling for me to follow. The bridge wobbles beneath us with each step taken. Its slipperiness and lack of walls to prevent the looming creatures under the water from consuming me strike fear in my heart. Crossing the bridge, I am met by the base of a mountain, fashioned with a tall, narrow opening that fades to eternal black. I enter. A rhythmic thumping grows louder
Over centuries, humankind has searched for the line where positive and negative influence over nature intersect. “The Rattler”, a tale of a man and a rattlesnake who cross paths in the desert, deals with this very question. The individual is at first cautious of the snake, thinking it best to leave the dangerous creature alone. But at the thought of the nearby neighbors, he takes it upon himself to kill it, and then continues on into the night. The author uses comparison, diction and personification in “The Rattler” to promote sympathy for both characters: the snake and the man.
The sight of the snake is so heartbreaking that even the man is left to rethink
The idea that early hominids were powerful players in the ancient is slowly slipping away. Evidence is emerging that our ancestors were not great hunters, but scavengers that roamed the savanna looking for leftovers. Pat Shipman, discusses how it would be possible for early hominids to survive as strangers and how this method of cultivation affected human evolution. Shipman, uses the marks that stone tools, and teeth would make on the bones of prey animals as evidence for her hypothesis. She theorizes that early hominids weren't mighty hunter, but cunning scavengers.
In Mary Oliver’s poem “The Black Snake,” the narrator contemplates the cycle of life with the unpredictability of death. Mary Oliver’s work is “known for its natural themes and a continual affirmation of nature as a place of mystery and spirituality that holds the power to teach humans how to value one’s life and one’s place” (Riley). In the poem, The Black Snake, the narrator witnesses a black snake hit by a truck and killed on a road one morning. Feeling sympathy for the snake, the narrator stops, and removes the dead snake from the road. Noting the snake’s beauty, the narrator carries it from the road to some nearby bushes. Continuing to drive, the narrator reflects on how the abruptness of death ultimately revealed how the snake lived his 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.
In "Kew Gardens," the narrator follows different visitors to the gardens, giving the reader brief snapshots of their lives through small descriptions as they reach the same flowerbed. The story begins with a description of the oval-shaped flowerbed. The flowers are red, yellow, and blue. They have petals that are heart or tongue shaped. As the petals fall to the ground, they stain the earth with these colors for a moment. Petals from the flowers soar through the sky in the summer breeze. The flowers' colors flash in the air. On this July day, men, women, and children walk through the gardens. As the people move through the gardens, their movements resemble butterflies. They zigzag in all directions to get a better view of the flowers.
I intended to portray the joy, anger, sorrow and pleasure of our lives through four seasons and through the life of a monk who lives in a temple on Jusan Pond surrounded only by nature.
... Nature, including human beings, is `red in tooth and claw'; we are all `killers' in one way or another. Also, the fear which inhabits both human and snake (allowing us, generally, to avoid each other), and which acts as the catalyst for this poem, also precipitates retaliation. Instinct, it seems, won't be gainsaid by morality; as in war, our confrontation with Nature has its origins in some irrational `logic' of the soul. The intangibility of fear, as expressed in the imagery of the poem, is seen by the poet to spring from the same source as the snake, namely the earth - or, rather, what the earth symbolizes, our primitive past embedded in our subconsciouness. By revealing the kinship of feelings that permeates all Nature, Judith Wright universalises the experience of this poem.
Along the way there were many species of wildlife. I saw numerous eye-catching reptiles, most of them were lizards that were multicolored with blues, yellows, reds, and oranges. At one point, I even saw a jet black snake with yellow speckles scattered throughout. Eventually, the path came out of the trees and led us to vast openness with nothing but saguaros and enormous mountains. As soon as I saw the opportunity, I pulled out my phone and started to take multiple pictures. However, when came back to reality and managed to pull my eyes away from my phone screen, that was when I actually took in nature’s beauty. When I looked through the gaping valley, it felt as if the world had halted to a stop and all my worries vanished. That was when I realized that it is honestly better to take mental pictures rather than taking physical
As the bushes and brush grew more solid I began to ponder. Will I make it through this forest tonight or will I be taken in by the thick of the mystery? Sounds from sluggish foot steps caused a vibration around me that lead me to stop in my place and listen closely. Could this forest be haunted or was I just over exaggerating? I started to get very nervous by this time. “It will be just fine,” I told myself. I am just imagining things. I continued my journey through the forest but negative thoughts were running through my l...
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; ...