countryside - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
In this expanse of green there are more hues than anyone has ever named, yet here they are for any eye to see. The land rolls as it always has, as if it feels that time and space are one thing, that it rolls through the ages as much as to the horizon. Over it is laid a path, one that branches through the open landscape, and as I begin to walk there is a frisson of joy for all the choices to come, each one of them laden with discoveries.
The countryside was an alien world. They rode horses and shot guns, raised pheasants and hunted foxes. Worst of all if you hadn't been born into it they'd treat you as an outsider no matter how long you'd been there. If you weren't into pony club or didn't have your own indoor pool to host parties at you might as well paint yourself brown an join the trees in the woodland for all the attention you commanded. The initial delight of the clean air and unspoilt views soon staled. The euphoria of escaping the city smog gave way to loneliness. Now she yearned for the noise of the busy streets and craved her old life with ten friends within a three minute walk of her cozy apartment.
The countryside stretched before hime like a great quilt of golden, brown and green squares held together by the thick green stitching of the hedgerows. It rose and fell like giant waves on a gentle ocean and was dotted with animals. Occasionally there was a wood that separated the fields, or a farmhouse or barn. Eric could see his whole day mapped out before him, rambling through pastures and over stiles, he hitched his picnic over his shoulder and felt at peace with the world. What could possibly go wrong today?
To the unaccustomed eye the dale was a beautiful swathe of rolling green divided by walls of mossy grey stone, picturesque by any standards. But to Eddy it was just grass, grass and more grass. He had never noticed the wide variety of deciduous trees in the woodland, or how their many different sized leaves adopted different hues in the autumn. Even these were just mud, sticks and leaf litter under boot. He detested having to bus for forty minutes to watch a movie, he loathed the trip to the supermarket taking twice as long as the actual shopping and the thought of spending more of his youth in a place where the number one sport was "pooh sticks" with your kid cousins drove him insane. He had a plan for getting to the civilization of the city. Unfortunately it meant studying at school, but a ticket to the university meant a farewell to the countryside.
The sun was a radiant, all-watching eye, its light creeping into every corner, bathing the whole world in a warm glow. The bus cruised down a twisting road, grassy, forest green hills looming over the mountainous drive. An endless expanse of turquoise wonder, shimmering a liquid gold, stretched towards the distant horizon.
The countryside beckoned. Today was a day of sunshine and rambling for Eddie, with way too many apples packing out his bag. The sunshine was brilliant but not yet with the heat of late spring. The fields were no longer swathes of rutted mud, each one was softly verdant, the new stems ruffled by the light breeze. The hills rolled like a casually laid eiderdown quilt, rising and falling in soft waves. Eddie walked up the muddy path, his senses soaking in the changes since he had last walked this way in winter. The air had more warmth and more fragrance. The music to meet his ears was an auditory painting from the winged artists as they called, sung and raised their new families in the treetops.
The countryside had been put to sleep under a blanket of white. The boughs glistened with frost; the air hung silent and cold. The only way in and out of the village was with a tow from the tractor; for five pounds Mr Green would attache a rope to your car and take you as far as the brow of scarface hill. The population of the village had doubled, the new half being made of snow and ice. It was odd to see the fields so quiet, the cows and pigs hiding in the warm barns and pens instead of roaming. Every Sunday afternoon of the big "snow in," right after church, every kid in the village got a ride to the top of Scarface in Mr Green's hay trailer so they could toboggan down, no cars allowed, just kids...
The countryside lay before him like a divine fingerprint, curving and changing, no two parts the same. In all the world this view was unique, such is the way of the organic world. The dip and sway of the land, the patterns and species of flora, the every changing sky and wind. Every day was a new snapshot in time, for even this one place, this view from one fine oak tree on a hill, could never be exactly the same two days in a row. Little by little the seasons would bring changes. River's mind wandered back to the far away city, his home, it had its rhythms too: the start and ending of school years, the vacations of summer and the winter festivals. Yet the countryside had a way of reminding him that he wasn't apart from nature, but a part of nature. Often on these travels he'd reach out to touch the bark of the trees as he passed or feel the softness of new leaves...
Though Faith could feel lonely in a crowded room, in the countryside she felt at home. It wasn't that she sought isolation, but in the quiet song of the birds and the susurration of the green wheat in the fields, she could feel at peace. The paths of mud and the stiles she traversed were a hymn sung straight to her soul; the trees, the grass, the pheasants that wandered the coppice, were all part of the music. The more the wind blustered, tousled her auburn hair and cooled her fingers, the calmer her mind became.
He wanted to impress the crowd by saying something great about the countryside, to tell them how noble they were to have put up with this hard land. It's droughts that baked a man and drove him mad or the floods that stripped and bared the fields leaving only starvation behind, he wanted to say how his heart went out to them, the little men and women of Stevens Hill. To remind them to keep up the good work. But he didn't because it wasn't true; they were fools. They traded their lives and the lives of those that trusted them, not for a dream-- there would be some saving grace in that-- no they made the decision to go through this hell out of greed and the lie that gold was here for the taking.