Descriptive Essay About The Forest

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Throughout history there have been places mankind has known and named, marking the cities, rivers, and roads of our world to maps that they might be remembered and revisited. The forest surrounding my home changes throughout the year, cycling in an endless pattern. Some places die in the winter, sleeping softly under blankets of white diamond powder, till spring comes to revive them. Other places fall to summer, withering under unforgiving sunlight or being smothered in shadows beneath the forest’s canopy. The place I tell of now does neither, instead it lies in a perpetual state of in-between, flourishing and fallow, flowers growing beneath felled logs. It is a place between places, and has no name.
It is in autumn that this stasis is best seen, as the world curls up to nap beneath snowy blankets and the forest’s creatures dash about for food and shelter. In this place between places all lies silent and calm, no deer traipse through to nibble at withering clumps of grass, no chipmunks rend the air with their curses. In this place the forest opens, grey brown trunks and boughs of needled pine and cedar giving way to a stately bower of birch and alder trees, their surfaces alternating between black, roughened scars and silvery smooth bark . As summer fades these trees flower, their leaves a fire of reds and golds swirling like flames as they dance through the air. Beneath these flaming branches black mud oozes from between mist darkened rocks and crumbling branches, clinging

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