Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

The enchanted forest pulsed in, it’s ancient heartbeat, the deep, haunting song sweeping through the swaying leaves. The woody incense of thousands of leaves and branches matting the forest floor filled the air and dominated our nostrils. Soon, the branches will bend to the will of the whispering wind, allowing the sun to fill every nook and cranny with its the lustrous, golden light, illuminating the full grandeur of a forest that is steeped in plushness and opulence. But for now, the sprawling limbs of centuries-old trees still guarded the darkness, blotting out most of the gentle rays of dawn’s light.

“The landscape, the whole great circle of it, grassheads, scrub, water, sky, quite took his breath away.” (Pg 17)

As we started back across the field hundreds of colorful birds, with crowns of yellow feathers, fluttered toward the dusky sky. The breeze smelled like crushed pine needles and wild flowers. Then we crested a hill and I spotted a herd of majestic half-men, half-horse centaurs galloping across the meadow, bows at the ready as they hunted for dinner. The scene was lit with floating flameless orbs of light, augmented by a jamboree of swirling fireflies their flickers blotting out the moon.

The branches of the willows brushed across the ground with the slight breeze that carried throughout the valley. Long grass swayed lightly, bending over the path to slide across the dirt trail. A howl could be heard in the distance, echoing through the air.

“In a forest of mixed growth somewhere on the eastern spurs of the Carpathians, a man stood one winter night watching and listening, as though he waited for some beast of the woods to come within the range of his vision, and, later, of his rifle.” This scene feels frightening and suspenseful, making the reader interested to read more.

Not a moment later, a hideous troll crosses the leaf littered path; it’s as macabre as a ghoul, if not more. It grumbles to itself, and scratches it’s extensive, blotchy stomach. With it comes a hideous stench of methane and decay (only the Gods knew what it had been up to). It suddenly stops at the edge of the path. Every animal holds it’s – perhaps – final breath. The grotesque creature then plunders on; animals begin to sing gleefully again, and the wind whispers vociferously once more.

Once they were there, the quarter-mile trek to their place had to be made. It was a small, circular clearing in the cone-bearing woods. The area around the fire pit was dirt, for safety reasons. On the outskirts of the copper-colored dirt were five large, round logs arranged in a circle for sitting. Just a few feet beyond the logs, the forest began again in copious amounts of vegetation and growth, like an untamed lion. That night’s weather was just right. The cool air was

where a dim and little-travelled trail led eastward through the fat spruce timberland. It was a steep bank, and he paused for breath at the

The thicker the woods, the vaster the vista: the Valley of Obviously. If any doubts arise, the wind dispels them instantly. Echoes stir unsummoned and eagerly explain all the secrets of the worlds.

The dale they call Pitgorm, an alluvial valley as far north and away from civilization as one can get, seemed at peace. At the head of the valley against the forest is the Morgbos: a dangerous water-soaked quagmire. The Isenkal Brook, which runs down the east side of the valley, has its roots there. With the fog lying on the moor and tumbling into the dale, most anything could pass unseen. The quiet was not

the midway point before the dangers of dusk covered us in a thick blanket of darkness.

Yet were being held down, giving a silent rhapsody of joy and grieving. Along the way fallen timber accompanied thickets of weeds. A lazy mist hazed my vision, making the horizon seem like one from a story book. The area was imperturbable, as if it was keeping a secret hidden deep within itself.

The sun was still below the horizon but the clouds above the mountains were tainted the color of pomegranates. Around me the shadows seemed empty. I tried not to look into the brush as I walked down the driveway. I had stopped before, looking to see the back of the shadows; staring hard, only to have them retreat from my eyes indefinitely. Invisible birds called from within. Their sound followed me down the driveway and onto the road.

There is a place filled with a chill which travels up your spine due to the fog hindering all light from entering the silent misfortuned forest. Townsfolk avoid this area if the woods in fear of the Headless Horsemen, better yet, me. The screeches of ravens, the frost filled blow of the wind, and the winding trees set fear in the eyes of the next prey.

The wild west wind came down through the fields, rousing the deer from their reverie, and swaying the bee-studded flowers. From its highest bough to the loose sand on its mighty roots, the ancient tree quivered lightly, yet was untroubled by the breeze. Many a storm had passed over the tree, yet no rain had managed to drown those fathomless roots, no hail had managed to bite the iron bark.