Unfortunately substandard winter days are the opposite of glorious summer days at the park, which makes the walk on the local park no so appealing. The wooden sign was nowhere to be seen due to the overcast, but as I got close I figured it out. It was socking in water unlike last time this made the park look threatening. The roses around had diapered and all that was left was thrones it was like they were never together. It wasn’t the prepossessing scenic place I knew wasn’t, like when I left it with it felt like hell has can down to heaven, this made me feel very disconsolate. There were could of birds tweeting with sorrow, bees had stop buzzing and the butterflies where nowhere to be seen. All I could hear and feel was the gusty wind whistles through the …show more content…
No sound rang out from the shimmering emptiness of the lake. Monastery quiet the idyllic scene took my breath away. Ducks were lined up outside the lake shivering after they had a taste of the icy cold water. This time nature didn’t support them, poor animals never get to be satisfied. The day was illuminated with that special cold, pale light that only winter's Sun could give, and the rain from last night made everything glow, but the pattern of my hope still wasn’t casted. The path with both trees and been glowing of rain there were no leaves to protect me from the rain and the braches and the dehydrated tress where waving for protection against the cold, all that was attempting was puddles. The highlight of my day in summer turned to be the slaughter of my day. Feature down there were aridic smell of the meat people that didn’t clean up as they rush home threating weather a couple of weeks ago. I shattered my teeth as I explored the difference further in the unlike park. I missed all the aroma of the pretty flowers and blossoms that I promise their fragrance. There was nobody energetic in the park, nobody at all that was energetic
The day started with clear blue skies and not a cloud in the sight. The only noise that you could hear was a concert given by the nearby crickets, and a lonely bull frog singing nearby in unison. As the evening passes on a sharp snoring noise can be heard muffled softly.
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
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
With darkness looming, the sound of insects gradually descended into complete eerie silence. My stomach was wrenched in knots, and the chill in the damp air has made the act of shivering painful. My palms felt clammy and adrenaline coursing through my system. The moon illuminated in the somber pitch black sky.
I arrive home around 11:00 p.m. to a sleeping wife and child. I walked into my daughter Emily’s nursery to give her a kiss goodnight. I leaned in and placed my lips on her forehead as she lightly opened her eyes. I rubbed her back and sang softly to put her back to sleep.
It was similar to the suburban street I grew up on, but in lieu of cookie-cutter houses with stale Bermuda grass, there stood wood cabins with yards covered in snow. The reddish-orange light emanating from the towering street lights pierced through a white fog and gently illuminated the area. Exiting the car, I was overwhelmed with a flurry of new sensations. The gently falling snow absorbed all of the sounds I was used to hearing in a residential area.The low hum of passing cars, birds singing from the trees, and the sound of blowing wind appeared to be muffled, even silenced, by the steady falling snow. I felt enveloped in a cool, but somehow familiar blanket. The smell of burning wood was coming from every direction, as each house I looked at had a thin, grayish plume rising gently from the chimney. The plumes represented the warmth and comfort of the many people I imagined to be nestled by the fire. Looking down the street, I noticed how freshly plowed it was. A thin layer of snow and ice-- like icing on a cupcake, or the glass top on my parent’s nightstand-- covered the street. But on the side of the street sat a pile of snow that could have swallowed me alive. Feeling taunted, I stood there and weighed my options. Chest deep mounds of frozen crystals begged me to dive in and lose myself. Preparing to succumb to the temptations before me, I was momentarily hindered by the fear of my parent’s wrath. But had that ever stopped me
He went on down the hill, toward the dark woods within which the liquid silver voices of the birds called unceasing - the rapid and urgent beating of the urgent and quiring heart of the late spring night. He did not look
On the mornings that had once throbbed with the dawn chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of other bird voices there was now no sound; only silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh.” This is important because it not only were people getting sick and dying but animals were
The wind whispered outside my flower curtains. My Rosemary garden swayed to the noiseless tune. I sit quietly watching their soft movement, the flowers I worked hard to nurse. The rest of my yard remained parched, with time it had given defeat to the hot Alabama sky.I glared at the cracked dirt, cursing it for giving in to the pressure, praying I won't do the same .I sip the cool lemon ice tea, the cubes of ice brush on my dry lips.
“I think I see a sunny spot Dani, let’s go warm up.” I say. The day was warming in the parking lot. Small piles of snow melting next to the concrete. Under the trees circling Bear Lake it is damn cold. Memorial Day Weekend at Rocky Mountain National Park and one side of the Lake still has three feet of snow covering the path.
With stress on my mind and a cookie in my hand, I headed towards the wooded area behind her home. At the beginning of the trail, there was an old rotting tire swing barely hanging onto a low-hanging branch. The extensive amount of muddy puddles and the surrounding damp grass made me hesitant to follow through with my grandmother’s suggestion; the mountain of homework that waited for me back at home convinced me to continue. Trees towered over me, adding to the existing weight of stress that sat upon my shoulders, as I carefully maneuvered around the biggest puddles, beginning to become frustrated. Today was a terrible day to go for a walk, so why would my grandmother suggest this? Shaking my head in frustration, I pushed forward. The trail was slightly overgrown. Sharp weeds stabbed my sides every few steps, and I nearly tripped over a fallen tree branch. As the creek barely came into view, I could feel the humidity making my hair curly and stick to the sides of my face. After stopping to roll up the ends of my worn blue jeans, I neared the end of the trail. Bright sunlight peeked through the branches and reflected off the water. The sun must have come out from behind a cloud, seeing as it now blinded me as I neared the water. A few minutes passed by before I could clearly see
Because the summer residence of the monks of Waltham once stood there, the local villagers thought that the spirits of monks rang those bells and watched over the forest. I lingered there for a while, listening to the gentle sound of a stream as it flowed over the corks nearby. I also listened to the bells, but the bells did not ring for me. Maybe it was because I was an outsider. & nbsp;... ... middle of paper ... ...& nbsp; After my brief rest, I spotted a ridge covered in brilliant purple heather.
As if signaled by a conductor katydids begin their chirping matching the pitch of the birds in a minuet of the forest. My friends rush down the path to the falls to check on me and my hand, boots stomping and thumping with the crackle of the leaves beneath their feat, creating the percussion for the beautiful minuet. I close my eyes and imagine the conductor bringing all these obscure sounds together and making a lovely melody with the instruments of life.
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.