Out in a deep green meadow, yellow daisy's blossomed. Birds sang along to the wind blowing through the leaves on the great big willow tree's. You could smell the sweetness of momma's homemade apple dumplings in the distance. To get to momma's homemade apple dumplings, you had to go through the whispering pines. A very perfect, peaceful place, but dont underestimate the greatness of the whispering pines. Still to this day the tales of the confusion that appears and happens in the whispering pines still haunt the little village of Ravenna still to this day. I was about 8 years of age and i lived in Ravenna with my baby brother, mother, and father. On a later september morning, my father set out to go hunting and i decided to come with him. Got all dressed in my camo, bright orange hat and mud boots. Set off to the woods by 8 o'clock through the corn field behind my house. …show more content…
I took a deep breath and stared face to face with the whispering pines, following my fathers foot steps. We had to find the tree blind so i could sit in it with my bebe gun. You could not smell mommas homemade apple dumplings anymore. That made me really sad. As we continued down the trail, i found the blind and climbed right up in it. My father told me to stay right there and not move until he returned to get me. As he was walking away, he turned at told me to shoot anything with a bushy tail. So i waited and waited, it felt like
The chapter on fecundity addresses the bizarre ways that nature has evolved to ensure the continuity of a species. As the title suggests, fecundity deals with the fertility of species where Annie Dillard explores the inefficiency of fertility and the brutality of nature’s evolution. In the end, Dillard concludes that death is a part of life.
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.
The cold chill was blazing on me and my shoe gently began to pull out a tear. I thought about Candy and the other guys. Hopefully, I made the right choice. The sun came down and I ended up in a deserted river. Slowly, I began to regain where I was, and I opened my eyes in disbelief.
It was around nine o’clock when I pulled into the driveway. It was pitch black outside so I brought a flashlight with me. Now I’m a paranoid person, so I also brought my machete with me. My grandparents lived right in front of a dense forest, so you never know what could come out of there.
One night in August of 2014 my mom, Mika and I grabbed a flashlight and walked out the door into the dark night. My mom flipped on the flashlight and shone it on the bumpy path before us. Normally nobody ever did much in the village after dark, but tonight was not normal.
Months later, I woke up and walked down stairs to make my oats. I walked downstairs and was looking for my Father. I looked everywhere in the house before I noticed he was no-where to be found. Then I walked into the living room and saw my Mother. She was hysterical. Tears were running down her cheek like the Mississippi flowed into the Gulf of Mexico.
I could barely keep myself from jumping out of my chair. I listened intently, noticing the pronunciation of each word as it danced out of my father’s mouth. “It was pitch black. I was only a year or two older than you, you know. And the forest… the forest was so dark. As we paddled through the water toward the floating black mass of the island, it became hard for me to tell where the water ended and the treeline began.” I felt my heart beating deep inside my chest and fought the urge to leap up and scream with excitement and fear.
Bill Bryson the author of the short story ‘A Walk in the Woods’ constructs the story in a certain way to try to get the reader to accept his attitudes and values about how dangerous and death defying Earl V. Shaffer and other’s are in attempting to travel the trail. He uses the techniques of emotive language, unusual language and use of first hand accounts in the short story ‘A Walk in the Woods‘ . The use of descriptive and humorous language, combined with conversational text has allowed Bryson to express his feelings and opinions on his and others experiences on the Appalachian Trail to the audience.
It is not true that the close of a life which ends in a natural fashion-
Looking back, I remember running through the long lush grass pretending we were at battle andtrying to take cover. I would always find myself behind the old oak tree in our back yard. This was my favorite spot. The thick trunk, like a bodyguard, protected me from the imaginary bullets that flew towards my body. I would lean against the hard bark and for some reason it was comforting to have something sturdy to lean on. It was dark brown, and every now and then a spider would nestle between the pieces of bark. Sometimes I would touch the tree to peek around the corner and my fingers would be sticky. I could never quite figure out why that was, but, nevertheless, I had the hardest time getting it off, a constant reminder of my tree.
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.
running through the corn and playing hide and seek. Even after all the fun I had,
It was finally fall break. I was visiting my grandma for a few days. Well past dinnertime, I pulled up to the white stately home in northern rural Iowa. I parked my car, unloaded my bag and pillow, and crunched through the leaves to the front porch. The porch was just how I had seen it last; to the right, a small iron table and chairs, along with an old antique brass pole lamp, and on the left, a flowered glider that I have spent many a summer afternoon on, swaying back and forth, just thinking.
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld the silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.