Ida Garcia's Life-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.

Trees are important not only physically but also spiritually and for many this fact is lost. Physically trees provide humans with beauty and a healthy ecosystem. Spiritually trees provide humans a connection to nature. Their importance has been lost in our modern times as humans further separate themselves from nature. While forgotten by many, their actions still resonate. The two modern poems “The Tree Agreement” by Elise Paschen and “Living Tree” by Robert Morgan trumpet the value trees hold in comparable ways. In the poem “The Tree Agreement” the speaker argues for the benefits of the Siberian Elm against a disagreeing neighbor. By structuring the poem in this manner, the poet highlights how people are blind to the services trees provide while simultaneously highlighting said services. The tree is portrayed almost as a friend or ally to the speaker. The speaker describes not only to the significance of the tree to humans like the neighbor and the speaker but also to the other living creatures surrounding them. The poem “Living Tree” focuses on the actions performed by trees in cemeteries. This poem follows a more spiritual route when compared to Paschen’s poem. This poem describes the process those who have been buried go through and the role trees play in this process. The trees in this poem are portrayed as lightning rods for the chemicals and spirits of the dead. This relationship is portrayed positively, as the trees are a monument to the passing of life. These poems

As he leaves, they notice that the leaves have all turned orange and the air is no longer warm. Every autumn thereafter, the trees at the Bailey farm stay green for a week longer than the trees to the north, and then change overnight. In the frost on the farmhouse windows the Baileys read the words, “See you next fall.”

Personification also contributes to the relationship by making the tree a lively component of the family instead of a passive object in the back yard. A relationship necessitates at least two parties so it is necessary that the tree be a part of the family. At the end of the poem, “the black walnut tree swings into another year” when the family decides to keep it. This shows that the family respects the tree as its own entity and presence. First, this personifies the tree as free and leisurely because swings are usually for play. It also contextualizes the tree as having a

Maria Garcia-Rada, now 20, was born May 13th, 1995 in Lima, Peru. Maria moved to the United States in 2001 because her father got a job offer in Maryland. It was a sacrifice that her father was willing to make because it was an opportunity for a better life for their family. Even though Maria moved to the United States she still follows many of the traditions and practices from her old culture and incorporates them into her everyday life while also following traditions of American culture. When she moved to America, Maria only knew how to speak Spanish. Throughout this interview the interviewer will discuss Maria’s traditions, customs, power distance within the Peruvian culture, and how the two cultures clashed at times.

World’s held their breath as one single tear rolled down the cheek of a broken queen. Not a sound was uttered as the breath was released and Penelope wiped her cheeks clean of any sign that she had been mourning as she slid out from between the blankets. She crept through her house, though it could have been a stranger’s without her lord to make it a home. As she stepped onto the soft grass a warm wind whispered in her ears.

The relationship between the Tree and the family in the poem The Black Walnut Tree by Mary Oliver is conveyed as harsh and difficult. If they choose to sell the tree then it’s assured that the house will be safe, however, they lose a part of their history. If they do not sell the tree, then they have a chance of the tree destroying the house, but they are struggling to even pay the mortgage and cannot afford any more expenses. By the selected spacing of the poem, figurative language, and lyric this relationship dilemma is conveyed.

Kent does not respond. The brisk air makes him shiver. The once treasured scent of damp leaves now makes his stomach turn. Around him, everything seems sharper, more daunting. Shadows darken. Leaves suspiciously shift. The breeze hisses like a snake. A rope of emotion snares Kent’s chest. Gasping for air, he curls up further, shutting his eyes.

Soon, Anna grew weary and strolled over and tried the door, but it was locked. Scared to be locked in a room she thought what if there's a fire? What would they do? Would they even be heard if they cried out for help? She knocked lightly and Miss Margot opened the door slowly and came into the room and placed a tray with two small bowls of split-pea soup on the mattress. Then she made them stand up and held their hands and whispered, "Children you must also remember to be as quiet as church mice." They both nodded and agreed to keep

Never in the history of the world did a heart sink to the bottom of the floor faster. A room she presumed to be filled to the brim with her peers, with flashing lights, and smiling faces. Was empty.

She was late to her friend’s house. Her mind became so easily distracted by the mix of bright colors on the small, portable, handheld device. Jolted back to the reality of what little time was allotted for packing; she took purposeful grabs containing bare necessities for the night with the clock still ticking away behind her. One by one, Della dropped items into her black and white, polka dotted, drawstring bag. And then out the door- like a dazed New Yorker rushing through the station to get to the departing subway-- she left her modern yet plain house, only saying goodbye to her mother. Her father hadn’t lived there for years.

Suddenly, the phosphorescent glare of the sun was gone; it was dark, it was fetid and pungent (and some odd, sweet smell was present, also). The green leaves and tall trunks and brush were gone, too, and in their place were plump, black bags of trash and old pizza boxes. This must, he thought, be the end of the forest, where it met civilization again, and he must be sitting now in the industrial sized dumpster of some business’

She quickly walked out of the huge house and saw Casey talking to the stable boy. His fearful eyes portrayed a complex frightening, that she was eager to avoid. When the boy say the lady he lowered his head and his eyes.

Her knees went weak and her body cold as this man pushed her to the floor, her hands snagging on her china as she went down. Soft tears welled in her eyes and dropped to the floor, mixing with the blood of her hands. Tears now spilling down her face, she wiped her hands across her top, across the railing as climbed up the stairs. She shuffled into her room, slamming the door behind her. She could hear the leather, pounding up the stairs after her, moving quickly to the door she stood behind, stopping for a moment as the handle turned and the door swung open. His expression was so kind, so familiar, for a moment she forgot the blood on her hands, on the railing, and on the floor. For a moment, she felt safe, her prince charming here to save her. But as his bare knuckles struck her flawless face, her shoulders hitting the cold ground, she came to the

           I ambled into my mother’s room with the knowledge that no matter how much time I took, no one would care. The bright white cotton sheets of my mother’s cot contrasted incredibly with the shiny black of the life support systems. The doctors called the cause of the coma overdosing on sake alcohol; I called it shock from the suicide of my father, done in this very room with a butcher’s knife. No one knew why, but everyone saw the decline in my mother’s health. Now, all that’s left of her is a withered shell of the charismatic woman I used to know. Her once vibrant cheeks had been replaced with drawn-in pouches,