Trees - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
In this old growth forest the trees rise upward forever, the canopy above is distant, like clouds of green. Even with arms out-stretched I would never even be able to reach even a fraction of the way around their gnarly bark trunks. Stepping carefully over the roots that knot the pathway, watching the freshly fallen rain seep into the soil, I am struck by a wish to melt in with it. Not to die, but to live forever amongst these ancient beings who cast the shadow in which I stand. There is a sacredness here that transcends everyday concerns, casting them into the timelessness of forests, of oceans, of mountains. Under these boughs I feel the breath of God and hear the beauty of His creations; how can I not be at home here?
The trees grow so thickly that there is no undergrowth at all. About our feet are only the browned remnants of branches and needles that have fallen in the recent high winds. If there is a path here I can't see it, so instead I wend my way through the skinny trunks that grew so tall, racing for their share of the sun's rays. In places they are so thickly clumped that I must alter my path or risk my backpack becoming wedged. The air has that smell of woodland before rain, perhaps above the canopy there are clouds fit to burst. It is dark for this time of day, so perhaps soon the filtered light will be accompanied by water droplets.
Now and again the great lines of grey-silvery poplars rose and made avenues or lovely grey airy quadrangles across the plain. Their top boughs were spangled with gold and green leaf. Sometimes the vine-leaves were gold and red, a patterning.
An Immense bulky tree stood in front of me, movement of a whirlwind but look of a witch. The tree protrudes it dangling vines as I get tangled. The green fades away as autumn approaches, nothing to be seen except a big old tree.
Its branches protrude like vines up towards the sky and brush the nearby buildings like a paintbrush.
In the distance he could see the remnants of a dead forest, the dark trees lining the horizon like foot soldiers ready for battle.
To the west was death; the skeletons of trees and remnants of what was once beautiful green fields.
Trunks gnarled, twisted, massive girth, straight, leaning, branched, smooth, slender, knotted, green with moss, slimy, shaggy, silver, interlacing roots protruding from the soil in great loops and ridges. Sprawling branches, stiff branches, overhanging branches.
Evergreen, needle leaves, defy autumns call, defy winter's chill, bold, commanding, virescent towers, clothed in life, breathing, whispering, woodland secrets, aromas of bark and loam, smell of pine needles, snow topped giants, alive with birds, calling merrily, chirping, singing, safely hidden in needles of green, spindly.
Ash black with buds, thin wands if Willow, carpet of acorns
creaking boughs, swaying, crooked limbs, overhanging branches, branch coated thickly in pale green moss, foliage, tangle of branches, drooped dankly in the rain, gnarled roots writhing into sodden earth.