nature - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Under the mist that swirls thicker than hairspray in a beauty pageant prep-room lies sand that shifts under the pressure of my boot. I can't see it, only feel. Out there, only meters away is the ocean, alive with constant motion and millions of sea-dwellers. Beyond this wall of white I can smell and hear it. The waves are neither the gentle kind that roll up the beach like a overflowing bath tub, nor the crashing kind that turn murky with golden swirling crystals. They move with force but die within a few feet. From them comes the salty smell, that fragrance that conjures fishing fleets and nets of sun-bleached blue cord hanging out to dry. This place could be anywhere, I guess at a stretch this could be some kind of artificial simulation, but it isn't. This is my hometown beach and that is the sea I swam in as a small child. The wind here carries my mother's voice and her sweet kisses. I stand still, face to the breeze and soak it all in. No technology, no gimmicks, just nature...
On the city streets I am a walking wallet, a consumer, a citizen. There are rules of conduct any which way you go. I must cross the street at the lights on command, I must wait in line-ups in the stores and be courteous. But here in nature I am just another organism, another animal, albeit one with fancy clothes and a cell phone in my pocket. There's something liberating in that. If I want to I can shout my lungs out, there is not a soul to cast a disapproving glance or whisper doubts as to my sanity. I can run, walk or turn cartwheels. I can walk for an hour or an entire day. So long as I pack my bag with enough food I needn't return until sundown. I'm not really a camper, I like a nice soft bed, but perhaps the urge to keep on walking will get the better of me one day and I'll need a tent. We'll see...
Upon the hill I stand as still as the trees, not totally frozen, for just as their budded twigs move so does my long hair. My eyes are closed. Tousled auburn ribbons whip about my face; blown by air as fresh as any after a rainstorm. After several deep breaths I take in the view, from here the fields are laid out like one of Nanna's quilts. But instead of her magentas and cyans it is the earthen colours of early spring. There are ploughed fields of brown and the pastures that are still dull rather than having the bright hue of new growth. It's too early for this hill to have flowers, but I know if I kneel on the wet blades there will already be the tightly folded petals in their green casings, swelling, ready to bloom. These long walks in nature are my treasure, by sanctuary from the busy hubbub of my life.
Here the nature is more gay than anything on the moors. Back home the beaten and dishevelled greens of the grass mingles with the brighter hue of the mosses and the dullness of the earth. The trees lie lower to the ground than those in the dense woodlands further off. They hunker down to give a lower profile to the wind, pointless though it is. The wind howls without mercy day and night, bitter in the long winter months and kinder by summer. Here there are real flowers with petals that look painted by a carnival queen. Nothing was too bright, nothing was big or bold. If I turn on the spot this tropical world will become a kaleidoscope, blurred, spinning and brilliant. I cannot believe how big the petals and leaves are, I cannot believe the height of the trees or the perfume on the sultry breeze. From back home I could never have cared for this place any more than a fantastical picture in a child's book, but now it will be the place I go to in my sorrows, I'll just close my eyes...
In favourable conditions nature is a blessed mother. When she does our bidding she is glorious and we soak her in like a drug. We bask in the new greenness of spring, the heat of a sultry summer and the brilliant shades of fall. Yet when she blows a hurricane, sends a tsunami or shakes the ground she is cruel. But perhaps what we like least is the reminder that nature is not there for us, the world is not a gift to humanity. We are creatures of nature, just the same as any other, only with a few more toys and a bigger ego.
The sunrays fall as a blanket of white upon the greenery. In their glow the nascent leaves of spring lie papery and delicate, drinking in the energy the trees crave. These brilliant days must be better than christmas for all the flora, an all-you-can-eat buffet until sundown. The air has the gentle heat of the new season, not warm, or cold, but tepid. On the ground lies the wetness of a recent rain-shower, soaking into the dark mud. I imagine myself alone until I stop to really listen and look. The trees are alive with birds and squirrels. In the valley below there are fish. I am not alone at all, yet the solitude I can achieve in nature feels like a running faucet- draining away my stress. I can choose to walk fast, burning away more tension, or I can dawdle and take in the species around me. All winter long I've been marching, but today I'm taking it slow. Today I'm letting the soft virescent hues dwell on retinas that are so accustomed to brown on brown under a sky of grey.
I can see the waves dance
Bouncing on the ocean floor
I can hear the birds sing
The silent audience clamouring for more
I see the leaves sway in the ocean breeze
In a trance
Ah such serenity
Beauty at a mere glance
The smell of fresh air in abundance, that’s rare
The feel of the sun’s warmth
Nature’s daily care
The sound of the earth’s voice singing without words
Soaring high just like the birds
The plants and trees
Relaxing with ease
Everything here is immortal
I cannot tell it all
The roar of the lion
Like a great waterfall
i view it all
in disbelief and awe
There is no decay, life is eternal
This is paradise, perpetual
It’s heaven’s way of healing
Looking down from a majestic mountain range
Settled nicely on earth’s green plane
My heart yearn for this, a treasured wish
It’s the great escape
The place where you find
Harmony and rest
Written by: Charmaine Wallace
As i sit on the veranda i can feel the soft breeze caress me and cool my body down. the mucky puddles and water splotches in the green blanket made of plush herbs and shrubs and not to mention the beauteous and soothing flowers often refereed to as a garden, made it look grimy in a beautiful manner.
The waterfall thundered down like lightning flashing the surrounding trees in surprisingly different shades. Shadows danced among them while trees stood silently like armored bark sentinels. The sun sent an army of light down emphasizing the beauty of the otherworldly environment. Grass covered the land slick like hair. Each strand dripping heavily with water forming their own waterfall. Flowers were sprouting up in a amazing discord of the colours to dazzle the senses and eyes as beautiful arrays of colours from greens, yellow, purples, reds and others assaulted you. Mountains reached up tot eh sky seemingly trying to pluck and rival the sun. The homely smell of pine drifted in the air lingering gently like a charm. Birds twittered and gossiped in the tall might trees.
rainbow coloured flower richly dazzling in the cold breezy air,
lush green leaves awake dancing higher in the light blue sky
The nature in these woods does not care for sentimentality, it does not give to a person who cannot take for themselves. It hides its bounty below bark and soil, its secrets not for the casual observer or the frivolous visitor. It cares not that you are sentient, it will welcome your nutrients to the soil as well as any other creature of God. It is for you to find your place in the food chain, in the ecosystem. Perhaps this is why man is so callous in return. Perhaps this notion of “self-help” was misinterpreted as “take what you want.” Of course even in our concrete towers we cannot divorce ourselves from the food web we are part of. Everything we acquire from scented stores playing soothing music came from nature. But here deep within the trees that reach for the sun, we are humbled, no matter how far we go we are still creatures of this earth, both of nature and dependant on her.
Nature is a million links, billions of interspecies interactions and weather systems too strong to tame. It's easy to think of her as indestructible, always able to bounce back. In a way that is true, even if the entire ecosystem collapsed, nature would start again with the bacteria just as before. We can't truly destroy this world, only ourselves and the species we share the planet with. Without us it will reset, restart and slowly re-populate over the eons. In that way nature is robust, but if we want a nature that includes us and the species we depend on, then it is fragile. It is the dying bees and the polluted oceans, it is the felled forests and the melting polar caps. Nature is not something separate, something a few freaks opt into, it is us and we are it. We are nature and our fate is tied to the fates of every other creature whether we like it or not.
When I die I will return to the Earth that made me. I will sink back into nature, just another ancestor who once lived. My nutrients will be recycled by the insects and bacteria, perhaps I will be part of a tree, a beetle of a bird. Until then I will use my borrowed star-forged atoms to love and be worthy of love. I will see and learn. Perhaps this jumble of protons and electrons can become wise, or perhaps they can simply enjoy the task of trying.
In nature I can be who I am, just a person. The trees do not expect me to be kind and selfless. The wildlife expects me to eat it should I be hungry and able to catch it. The wind does not ask for my words or my counsel. The soil does not rise to meet my boot or shy away. Here I am simply the person who sees from these eyes and walks on these feet. I can release the labels and emotions I receive from home and work. I can leave judgement and expectations in the car park and just walk. Some find it surprising that on occasion people just start walking and never come back, personally I find it odd that it is so rare. Maybe we are a noble species after all, unwilling to abandon our responsibilities and loved ones.
In this light that paints my skin so warmly, the trees are dancing ladies, each in dresses more fabulous than any designer can craft. They move, choreographed by the wind, in perfect time with one another. They are the life and soul of this early summer morning, and I wonder how many hues of green my eyes are witnessing. As they stretch upwards and outwards toward the light, drinking in rays as pure as the rain, I stretch my arms up too, fingers spread toward the sun and slowly begin to dance.