The Daylight Is Dim, Dark, And Gloomy

Violent imagery characterizes the ruthless and cruel forest by describing how the forest has been eating itself to live forever. “...a choir of seedlings arching their necks out of rotted tree stumps, sucking life out of death” (Kingsolver 5). The setting in this novel is defined by this quote. In order to survive, one must be willing to put their needs first, or else they will suffer the consequences. In this world, nothing is safe. The forest

The narrator's vision of her ancestors expanding a plentiful life is emphasized with the picturesque “blue fields…with leaves and vines and orchards.” This then strikes the narrator with the realization that cutting down the tree would be a betrayal to their ancestors, their dreams and the demise of the heritage of the

“Tree Grave” is a poem published by Oodgeroo Noonuccal in 1964. The poem gives an Indigenous Australian perspective on the demise of one of their kin. Noonuccal comments on the adversity the Indigenous Australians face through the use of traditional aboriginal word choice, poetic techniques and her ability to manipulate tone and mood. Through the use of this she is able to effectively communicate her message of adversity.

The howls of swaying leaves cut through the grisly night. The only light ascended from the moon, though it was barley visible amidst the trembling towers of trees. Branches of wrinkled wooden limbs creaked and groaned as they swayed to the sound of the wind’s whispered secrets. Exposed, contorted roots sprung from the ground desperately trying to escape from the ravenous demons that dragged them down to a more hellish fate. Tortured screams of those doomed to a punishment of fire and brimstone erupted from within the deafening quakes of the woodlands, and the deep cackles of a hag could be heard faintly after.

"Try not to go too deep into the woods, Viola." That's the one thing that father had dependably let me know. Every one of the grown-ups in the town said the same thing, so it appeared like a platitude told to kids who wanted to play in the woods. The wind blew, making my skirt and golden braids sway. Holding the hair out of my eyes, I turned upward. Through the holes in the green branches over my head, I could marginally see the blue sky. It was a hot summer afternoon, and there I was, in the forest. There was an incredible woodland close to Salem Town, the town I lived in. The forest, which was abundant year-round, was extremely helpful for the villagers. A prime example how it is useful to the daily life of the villagers in our modest little

The night coats the air with darkness as we arrive. The only light is the warm glow of the headlights piercing through the thick blanket of the night, and the moon gazing down upon us. Click, our headlamps go on. We hop out the car, as a rush of whipping wind engulfs my face. The cold night air flows through the stitching of my clothes stealing the warmth from my body and sending chills down my spine. My friend and I search to find a campsite, like dogs searching for a buried bone. Walking, I can feel the crisp grit of sand shifting beneath my feet and hear the wind flowing like a river through the trees. Down the worn path, we hang our hammocks and start to gather firewood. Sounds of machetes striking branches fill the woods echoing

Almost immediately after telling the readers about her first crush, the speaker, setting up for the second part of her story, begins to use vague phrases and abstract imagery to tell the rest of her story. The speaker remembers “lingering far past curfew [with the paperboy]” and the “gray [air]” that surrounded her (7-8). She tells of the “huge shadow of the hickory” that shrouded her with darkness, that allowed her to be in the shade (9). These vague details and the darkness offered by the tree’s shade allows for the interpretation that the speaker will soon fall asleep in the hickory’s shadow and begin to dream of the

I walked along the ruined remains of life on the ground. Old cottages and fields were dotted along the countryside like relics of a forgotten era. The fields, no longer a youthful green, were brown, shriveled and unfriendly to the farmers of Eucalyptus who tried in vain to procure a single sprout to appease the Council. Skeletons masquerading about in clothes and shoes worked on the fields feeding, begging, and fighting their fields in desperation. The picture should have been and normally was accompanied by

When Ulrich walks around a corner of a tree he comes face to face with his enemy, Georg. With the howling wind, large trees, and damp ground, a tree falls over and traps Ulrich and Georg. The forest’s traits raised the intensity when Ulrich and Georg were stranded in the damp, dark, large, mysterious, windy, and cold forest. Adding a dangerous feel to the situation it left the reader wondering what was going to happen next.

First, the subject matter of my piece reflects my own life and upbringing and what I find nostalgia in. On the left panel, there are three trees which

Julia and Jackson’s family lived out in the countryside with a far-reaching forest connected to their backyard. Their parents often reminded them to not play in the forest for fear that they get lost, but this never swayed the

She remembered years ago, as a child, going exploring with her friends in the woods near her house. Not far from the main path was a long dried out log. The peeling bark had a musty odor of earth and rotting vegetation. Her friends had dared her to enter the center of the log and crawl within the darkness. Not wishing to seem scared or girly, she crouched down and inched her way into the opening, her arms in front of her, pulling her forward. Sounds muted, and darkness encircled her as she moved her body into the log’s interior. Unidentifiable wisps of cobwebs and debris brushed against her arms and face. It was raining that day, a slow and steady rain, making everything damp and slippery. These images began to permeate her conscious. She could almost smell the dank odor of moss and wet leaves.

Malia wanders through a dark sinister forest, covered in the intertwined roots of old rotting trees. The tortured branches reach out like the bony fingers from death himself, the distressed pieces of bark barely cling onto the tree living corpse. The forest floor, chaotically submerged by the invading untamed shrubs

My Wooded World Sheila Visingardi tells a story about how nature plays a huge part in her life. As a child she would sit in the beautiful, relaxing, woods and let her mind wander. It was as if the branches would call to her. (Lines 2-4) As the speaker grows older the woods have become an escape for her. The woods represent a sanctuary. This is where she feels inspired and creative, and also safe and at home. It is “a world full of imagination, creativity, resourcefulness, as well as inspiration.” (Lines 7-8)

It was a dark and monotonous night. The efflorescence of humanity converged into a ballistic modernism, lingering on mental pinions, the hipsters, proto-, post- and pseudo-, spiraling perniciously downward in united mania. Mania of such magnificent pulchritude and beauty, melding, intertwining. all concentrated in a singular point where the energies thereof pulled magnetically the straggling no-knowers into it’s orifice, colorful deceit and beautiful delirium. The postmodern was nothing. Everything was postmodern. Everything was nothing. It was a steel and silk evening: not quite brisk enough to be cold, but lacking the light to be idyllic and warm. Yasiin remembered many things, the small things, good things, bad things, wrong things, right things; things that were at once normal, before turning into something entirely out of his league. His scars didn’t even have time to heal anymore, it was one murder to the next. He tightened his trench coat tighter around his slim body, trying his hardest to shield himself from the nipping wind. He wore a charcoal Brioni three-button suit, that felt like a calfskin glove on his body. It wasn’t a work suit usually, but he felt the need today. His eggshell Egyptian cotton dress shirt, by Donna Karan, had white gold cuff links in the shape of hammers from Tiffany’s, and the tie was Versace. His half-closed eyes had a look of vacancy or stagnancy, which might as well have been one and the same. Only his mouth, set determinedly and