Hills Descriptive Writing

Deep in the Alps lies a small town called Clay. The sun was rising over a frosty blue mountain, and drops of dew dripped down from the leaves in the valley. Arthur awoke to find his bedroom filled with light. He went downstairs and drank a glass of water, not hungry enough for food. Arthur went outside into the chilly morning and started walking down the road. The road was lined with hundreds of huge alpine trees. A large flock of birds flew over Arthur’s head in the sky.

The sun was glistening through the tall, swaying pines. To the right of the trail, a gentle river flowed softly down towards the mouth of the lake. Walking across the rickety wooden bridge, I inhaled a deep breath of refreshingly crisp mountain air. The sun beat down on me as I made my way across the bridge and back onto the well-used hiking trail. The ambient sounds of chirping birds, babbling water, and the croaks of several frogs filled my ears as I made my way around the bend. As I entered the mouth of the forest, I could see my father standing in the middle of the path, glancing upwards, taking in the beauty that had began to engulf us. “We better get going.” he said, looking back at me. “There’s still many miles to go.” I smiled and turned, taking in one last view of the beautiful creekside. Then, with determination, we set out to finish the challenging trek we had started.

The tickling sensation of heat bathing his face forced him to slowly open his eyes. The sun’s golden rays stunned him blurring his vision as he quickly turned away. As his eyes adjusted, he was surprised to find the absence of his father. His heart started to pound and all the confidence and security that he had built up melted in the space of a few seconds. He jumped up flinging his sleeping bag on to the ground and looked around taking note of his surroundings. To him, it felt as if the trees were suddenly sent out to attack him like stealthy assassins gaining on him as they moved side to side from the winds steady breeze. The faint noise of bugs and animals chattering sounded like the grunt of a predator before it hunts its prey. A colossal cloud

The clearing was quiet, it seemed lifeless. The Salinas River still flowed merrily near the hillside. The water was still warm from the afternoon sun, and still reflected a green hue. On one side of the river, the smooth foothill slopes still curved up to the strong and rocky Gabilan Mountains, and the other side was still lined with trees. The willows and sycamore branches still swung gently in the wind, and the leaves still created a green light within the space. It was totally calm and peaceful… but something was wrong. The air seemed heavier, and the sun seemed dimmer. No animals stirred, and everything seemed to be aware of a deep sadness. Nothing moved save for a small group of men standing around an unmoving figure.

The indication of morning had approached; wind halted while the air became temperate. Morning routine of the birds, fetching food for their children, communicating with the others, hatching their eggs. Newly seeded grass shooted out, growing like weeds. The air reminded Mary of a camping trip when she was younger in Yosemite Park. Pinecones and trees gave her the happy memories, ones of her husband and her only child before the accident.

The night before had brought a starless night with rain, but daybreak cracked through on a promising Saturday morning. The sky awoke with clouds dissipating. Hues of indigo beckoned the light between the black sky and the blue. Fog clung to the rolling hills while the varnished sun lit up the fields. In the distance, a faint sound rumbled over the quiet wisps still hanging in the air.

The vast wilderness opened around them, desert where he rode. Engulfing the rider and his horse in a valley surrounded by mountains, he could feel a cold draft race down the steep slopes. The sky brought on that hazy Autumn feel, where you can’t see anything but gray clouds and the wings of birds leaving for the oncoming winter.

A single beam of light shone thru the curtain. The specs of dust in the room danced between the rays, whisked into the air by the pleasant breeze tip toeing thru the screen door. I could feel the warmth on my cheek as I rose from the sheets, thoroughly rested. I briskly got ready, slipping on my tennis shoes, old and worn. Stepping outside, I was greeted by the painfully sweet aroma of sweet pea flowers, entranced by the blissful gleams of sunlight, and spellbound by the familiar screeching of parrots, flocking in clouds of bright vermilion.

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

“Hey! We’re running now. Start moving.” I opened my weary eyes. In front of me was the dark face of the same woman who I talked to at dusk. Heeding her words, I rose and started moving to the exit of the barn, quietly evading the slumbering guard outside. I realized that she stayed behind for me and the rest were gone already. After we went over the fence, we started to run as fast as a tiger until we were out of breath and our limbs were sore. The weather was clear as day and the sun was right above me. Then, I heard the familiar sound of

There were fields filled with bountiful flowers and yellows as bright as the sun at midday. A murder of black birds lay on the horizon of the small field, sitting on a rickety fence as if it was their only home. The middle of the field was a lush green that seemed to radiate and sunlight and brightness throughout.

Her long brown hair tied back in tight bun and brown dirty dress and matching wool jumper that is two sizes too big. She heads down towards the running creek the bank starting to flatten. Dead trees creating hurdles and the thrones pricing her numb feet. The slug becomes deeper as she get closer to the water. Animals in the night scratching and yelling, light hitting her left shoulder… ‘RUN’. The only way out is the creek and he is getting closer the water reaching her lower back sending shivers up her spine. Wading through the water she sees it. The bag and the world has gone dark again silent and serine she scrambles up the other side of the bank pulling the bag with her. A big oak fallen about 15 Meters away she knows by the unsettling silence he’s not far away. Pulling the bag on her damp back she crawls to the hollow tree and lays down behind it. She holds her breath for what feels like fifteen minutes not moving a single tired muscle in her body. After about half an hour more of twilight and damp forest floor she realises he’s given up. Not for good but defiantly for

When the sun slowly peeps over the range of mountains, birds shake the morning dew off their feathers and give a cheerful song that would lift even the most sorrowful of spirits. A light fog wraps around the mountain range, reaching to touch every bit of life thriving there. The slight chill in the air is enough to give a gentle shiver, but not enough for the need of a jacket. A breeze tickles the trees, making their leaves shake and sway with laughter. Sunlight seeps in past the thick canopy of branches with hopes of being able to reach the damp mountain earth. The mountains are the best place to live to be relaxed, see the most beauty, and never get bored.

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.

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.