Hills - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The hills are a patchwork of green made even more varied by the shadows of passing clouds. They are every hue from new spring grass to deep forest pools. Some are more shallow that others, but most have steep paths that take you to one side of their summit and then down to the next valley below. There isn't much to threaten a traveller in these woods, except perhaps the occasional bold bear or wolf pack. For the most part the walk is determined by the walker, it is either relaxing, invigorating, arduous, meditative and every shade in-between. But on the day the travellers found themselves on the eastern edge it was unseasonably warm and the mosquitos had been breeding in the what shallow water was left after the spring rains. Once they entered the coolness of the woodland canopy they were immediately set upon by the insects. It seemed that the promise of an enjoyable summer stroll to the west coast was already broken. They swatted the air in futile angry swipes and still were bitten.
The hills change their clothes with the season just like the fashion conscious city folk. In the spring they are clad lightly in the softest greens and they shine in a light that promises them more warmth to come. By summer they are in their thickest coat, deep rich greens to absorb the intense rays and provide cool shelter to any creatures that pass. By fall they are scarlets and golds, more beautiful than our emperors exquisite gowns. Their leaves tumble to the undergrowth, blanketing the ground with their brilliant hues and letting shafts of white penetrate the canopy once more. But now it is winter and the naked trees shiver in the bitter blasts. They are no more fancy than sticks and offer no protection to anything including themselves. Upon their boughs lies a smattering of snow and because of that the hills are still beautiful. They roll away from me in wintry grandeur, patiently waiting for the return of spring.
The hills are little more than a layer of poor soil over rock. They are clothed in scrubby grass too poor to even put flesh on a goat. On the tops the wintry wind is fierce and bitter, in the valleys it is more still and the sunshine has real warmth. The pale brown path that was rutted by horses in the soggy fall is now frozen and hard enough to twist an ankle. In each depression is a small frozen puddle and so for now it is simpler to just walk your own path over the frost-stiffened grass. Sometimes the path will branch away right or left and I have to check my compass, it would be easy to get lost. I have five hours of daylight left and no way of knowing how far away my destination is. All I have is the word of a delirious mystic that it is two days north east and then I will find the herbs I need for Miranda's cure. It isn't much to go on and so far these hills are as endless as desert dunes.
The hills that lie friendly in the day - like the pillows of the land - are darkly ominous by night. The paths that were illuminated just hours before become lost in a blackness that even moonlight cannot help. The trees that are magnificent in sunshine tower over James as he steps across the borderline between the seen and unseen. Choosing not to go in is no choice at all, but aren't all quests like that? He steels himself to keep moving, his hair on end as if the forest was on the enemy side. The air is several degrees cooler and soon he begins to shiver. On his frequent stops, James listens for signs of life around him, but there come none. Back in his home such a silence would be tranquil, but out here it is more like the quiet of the graveyard.
The hills didn't much care for the doings of men. They had seen dominant species come and go before. But now they shook with the blast of TNT as the newcomers searched for minerals that would make them rich. The diversity of the delicate flora and fauna meant nothing to them, the pursuit of a shiny yellow metal meant everything, The sprits hadn't stirred for time out of mind but now they began to rouse from rock, soil and tree. The hills themselves were under threat and that could not be allowed to pass. The spirits convened and found their powers insufficient, so they called on their darker brethren to bring pain to the humans.
The hills rolled like waves of an angry ocean before them and under the blanket of trees lay rocky escarpments and steep gorges. Their foothills overlapped making the valley river wend around them and the sky was dark and low giving a claustrophobic feel. The party had no choice but to cross them, there was no other way to the gates. Whatever lurked under the dense canopy of green would have to be faced, each took a dagger from their thigh hilt and stepped into the damp shade without a word.
He was driving with tight rein, for the mare was fresh and the road had awkward slopes and corners; but none the less he was dreaming, thinking pleasant thoughts, and now and then looking cheerily at the ribs of hill which at times were cleared of mist.
The hill was a broad knoll with a flat rocky top, to one side the escarpment fell away sharply, to the other it rolled away, gently undulant with tussocks. The grass grew thick and coarse, but was kept short by the sheep that grazed there.
North facing escarpment in shadow since early morning, treed ridge, belt of trees, pine scented air, greens of the wood, hillside jungle, unnatural humming of a pylon, huckleberry bushes, panoramic view of surrounding countryside from the top.
Firehills, southern England, steep hills with winding stepped paths lead upwards to open views of the sea, cliff to pebbled beach to one side, gorse bushes set the hills ablaze with their yellow blooms to the other, heather carpets the ground right up to the cliff edge, wide paths of short grass, bare patches, scattered clusters of rabbit droppings, occasional small thickets of woodland, birch trees, oak trees, ash trees, thin-stemmed blooms of snow drops, splashes of bluebells.
Gently undulating, steep, grassy knoll, rocky scree slope, springy turf of moss and grass, wooded, pasture, broken up with hedgerows like a great patchwork quilt, grazed by sheep.
The place where she sat was a hill that had turned to ledges and cliffs due to erosion, landslides and avalanches. The hill was oddly shaped; it either contained completely flat plains or extremely steep slopes and also this hill had pathways and stairs built by the villagers. But this side was the only area exposed to sunlight and so here many plants came to life.