La Habra Creative Writing

I looked around me slowly, as if in a dream. Across Palmer’s fields, where the sun went down, the sky had darkened. I started walking there, towards the west. The tall grass in front of me was still.

It may have been a little windy, but that was expected considering it was the middle of October. There were leaves; so many leaves. All the different colors of the trees in the distance made the moment so much more entrancing, especially the view right ion front of her. Even the smell of the contrasting circus foods was tolerable when she explored his eyes. To her, they seemed like the only thing that mattered. She just wanted to get closer. She wanted to-

It was late. Around 9 pm. We had left California hours prior, and we had been on the road for days. The scenery around us was bland. Miles and miles of dirt, catci, and more dirt. Occasionally, you could see a rabbit dash across the road.

With a coolish summer breeze highlighting the season, a whirlwind whisks across the rolling hills of the country side, as it passes by me, the whirlwind scoops up a dormant pile of leaves appearing to come alive twisting, turning and dancing about the garden. Verdant, luscious green colours overwhelmed me. The leaves seem to be having a party. I pull myself up from my temporary restless slumber and start my trek down towards the bottom field, tip toeing to avoid splodges of chicken poo; stumbling over large chunks of rock.

One of the most notable aspects of this piece is the way trees are conveyed. They are long and spindly, with only a few branches that jut upwards and reach to the top of the painting. The leaves of each tree meet and seem to form a mass, and there are no clear lines between where the leaves of one tree end and the next begins. In reality, it is fairly easy to tell where the leaves of one tree end and begin into the next, and trees have many branches, instead one of two, that reach to the sky. They are depicted as to

“It’s raining.” It was beautiful to watch the drops of moisture fall onto the brightly colored leaves, nevertheless, something

leaf detached itself from the plane tree at the end of the street, and in that

The weather was steadily cooling, and the sporadically colored leaves crunched beneath my feet as I stumbled around aimlessly in the school courtyard, feeling lost. Images of Karen 's sad puppy eyes, my mother 's scowl and disappointed simmer, and Bryce 's hauntingly beautiful face flash in my mind, flickering like an old film before disintegrating completely.

The backstage door opens and we all walk onto the stage. Mr. H is up at the front of the stage telling us all to be quiet. As I am walking in, I notice how huge the Belchertown auditorium is. The rows and rows of seats must mean that a lot of students attend this school.

The sky is the color of cold stones as I cautiously make my way down the trunk of dying oak. The few remaining leaves of the tree rustle as a light autumn morning breeze passes through them. One of them is blown free, making a soft snapping sound as it breaks away from its anchored brothers and begins to fall to the ground below. It twists and turns as it goes and I watch it in momentary curiosity. I have seen this often before. It is still mostly green, only slightly browning at the edges. It makes a show of falling, as though it knows it has an audience. It spins and dances, carried across an unseen stage by the breeze. The breeze fades and dies and the leaf follows shooting down quickly towards the earth like a predatory birding diving

A shadow stepped out of a car. The force of the wind was so strong it knocked him down. When he stumbled back to his feet, he brushed leaves from his hair then pushed forwards into the wind. Around him, branches and loose twigs whipped into a frenzied vortex.

The first time I had to move schools was in seventh grade. That first time was the hardest. I had been at that school for the entirety of my school career up to that point. But middle school was hard - academically, socially, and personally. The school that I was going to, which was a private school, wasn't working for me anymore. I wasn't doing as well and I wasn't enjoying myself anymore. So my mother and I decided it was best to find a better school for eighth grade and high school. I would have been going into high school and switching schools anyways, considering my current school at the time was only kindergarten through eighth grade. We decided on a charter school in my town that would be a better school

As autumn approaches, and leaves cascade to the ground as if they're Joffrey ballerinas, trees become a significant symbol of this season and life with their oxygen that fills our lungs. Nevertheless, the entanglement of their arms and height encourage an idea of fright and intimidation, making trees one of the many twisted structures that allows people to function and prosper in existence.

Rain poured down, creating small streams flowing down the sides of the street. A leaf lay along the surface of the stream of muddy water, struggling to stay afloat as rain continued to fall. The wind moved the branches of the trees so forcefully it was as if they were trying to escape the swampy ground. Her concentration was broken as the white mail truck came into sight. Andy had been peering out the window in the den for what seemed like hours waiting for her letter to arrive. The mailman carried a blue umbrella covering his bag full of envelopes. He looked rather young. He attempted to jump over the stream, but he missed, landing right in the middle making the leaf drown. His head moved around as he checked to make sure no one saw. After shaking his legs to try and get the water out of his shoes he headed up the stairs to Andy’s house.

“Like the fine flakes of snow that lay at my feet.” the tree began to turn dark as night,