The sunlight streams onto my face, giving my body a nice warmth. The various wheat and rye dance, forming waves, as a swell of wind transforms the field into an amber sea. A crisp fall breeze cuts through the warmth and rustles the golden leaves of the surrounding woods on the far side of the acre large field. Blood rushes to my cheeks as the cold finds me and penetrates the gaps of my woolen sweater, forcing me to continue up the sidewalk. I glance upon the broken concrete path and reminisce of times when the biggest obstacles in life consisted of missing the cracks when in a game of hopscotch. My younger, curious, and imaginative self remembers deep dark caverns forcing their way into the earth; however, the equally curious and imaginative, yet somewhat more realistic teenager now only notices the small hairline fractures filled with a new growth of dandelions. …show more content…
The wind picks up, swirling fallen leaves and forcing me to quicken my pace along the sun-bleached deck, decorated with halcyonic farm cats, huddled in masses to retain heat. A golden haze radiates out the glass panels of the cream colored door, hinting to the pleasantries that are soon to follow. Before my second foot passes the threshold and lands on the woven rope rug, I am greeted with an embrace that could warm the coldest of beings. However, as quickly as it began, the embrace ends as my grandmother rushes to check on the baking pies. I can tell from the cinnamon fragrance and the peals in the wastebasket, that I will be enjoying an apple pie
It was early, the sun was just beginning to peak over the mountains that lined the distant horizon. The breeze carried with it the scents of dew and the variety of wildflowers that grew along the lake shore. Flocks of birds flew over head, their cries piercing the silence of morning.
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.
I sipped slowly on a cup of hot chocolate after the sun set, and pondered in my head what my first activity might be when I woke up in the morning. Should I build an impenetrable snow fort inspired by images of Minas Tirith? Or perhaps amass a pile of snowballs to use for the inevitable war that I would start with my sister. Quickly I became distracted by the beautiful, handcrafted wood which formed the dwelling. The rich orange and distressed brown mixed perfectly to create something so easy on the eyes, I had difficulty comprehending how it came to be. The smooth and flawless texture led me to run a hand over to test for splinters. The smell of the wood was intertwining with smells from the fireplace, the kitchen and my cup of hot chocolate. All of these sensations came together to form a feeling of tenderness, akin to a mother’s embrace. I never wanted to return back home. I had discovered a place so perfect, so inviting and peaceful, I vowed to never return to the familiarity of home. This was only the first day with vastly more to look forward
Billy Thompson and Sam Westfield were similar in many ways. Since a young age they both has excelled at sports and both loved more then anything, the sport of football. While growing up, the boys did not know each other and probably thought they would never have too. But all of that changed with the diagnosis.
The cold wind rushing past me. The sun’s rays of light covered by the darkness of the clouds. Hooves, galloping along the floor. Dust surrounding me. My tight grip on my spear, my gallant horse’s hooves flying across the field.
Growing up as an only child I made out pretty well. You almost can’t help but be spoiled by your parents in some way. And I must admit that I enjoyed it; my own room, T.V., computer, stereo, all the material possessions that I had. But there was one event in my life that would change the way that I looked at these things and realized that you can’t take these things for granted and that’s not what life is about.
Inhaling, I notice how my lungs fill with pristine air. The gentle wind curls around my face, tenderly brushing my hair against my cheeks. My heartbeat is reverberating through my body, pulsating within my fingertips. The natural fragrance drifting from the unrestricted growth of life envelops me. The sunlight tenderly kisses my exposed arms and warmth cascades along my skin.
Clusters of bright yellow sunflowers are growing amidst the green prairie grass. I pick a sunflower and take pleasure in its sweet fragrance. I pull each soft petal off and toss it into the wind. Puffs of white cotton from a cottonwood tree float slowly past me.
It has come through the winter and the sometimes-hard frosts of spring, holding us together with its sharp thorns and being a boundary for us through the dark time of rebirth and regrowth. Now it is a threshold, the “edge” between winter and summer, the liminal place we cross over into the bounty of the fecund season. Jumping through the fires
A new day has begun. Slowly ascending into the cold dark sky, the sun glows vibrantly with delight. The passionate colours fill the sky with warmth like the pink grapefruits, zesty lemons, citrus oranges and cherry red. The sea so subtle sparkles preciously as it strolls up against the shore. The crystal water that stretch out far into the horizon gets darker and deeper but stays very calm.
We walked through the glistening white fields. The snow seemed to stretch endlessly and only the tall oak trees stood proudly pressed upon by the whiteness and cold of winter. Yet a tiny little thing caught my eye, a flower. Blood red flowers defiantly stood, their beauty magnified hundredfold by the surrounding glistening snow. I knelt before their beauty and saw their petals swayed gently under the northern wind, as if dancing seductively.
Cold wind in my hair, aroma of crushed autumn leaves and the warm shadows of trees around me. Riding my Father's old orange racing bike around the neighbourhood, only interrupted from the serenity by passing cars. The crisp Autumnal air blasted at my face sends chills down my spine. The streets are coated by oak and maple leaves that have met their colourless end.
The wind blows through my hair. The rough ropes are coarse against my palms. My legs are pressed tightly against the warm flank. Rays of sunlight hit the trail ahead of me, seeping through the openings in the foliage. The crispness of the approaching fall greets me with each step.
It was late summer. The weather was gradually changing to autumn, which was noticeably seen on the leaves that were starting to turn orange. The sun was out, but it wasn’t too hot or too cold outside. In fact, it was actually soothing; the cold wind blowing, paired with the warm sun shining above.
The sunless sky covered the woods over the treetops which created a canopy over my head. The crimson and auburn foliage was a magnificent sight, as this was the season known as Fall. There was a gentle breeze, creating the single sound of rustling leaves. The leaves appeared as though they were dying to fall out of the tree and join their companions on the forest floor. Together with pine needles and other flora the leaves formed a thick springy carpet for me to walk upon.