woodland walk - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The woodland floor is a million hues of brown, more than Chloe's eyes can detect, yet they are there. The differences are magnified by the moisture, variation on variation. Mingled in are some stones, adding their greys to the mosaic beneath her feet. The trees are khaki over the bark, kissed with moss; on their shaded sides grows lichen as if thrown there like powdered paint, so softly green as to be close to white.
Chloe lets her eyes rest on the trees, their bark scarred by forest animals seeking insects. Each of them is soft brown, their injuries mahogany and deep even where the light reaches them. Periodically there is a raised ring under the bark going right around the girth, regular and chaotic all at once.
Of all the things on this woodland walk, it is the acorns I love best. They lie cold on the soil, bright against the dark rain soaked ground. Their shells glisten with drops poised to run home to earth, sitting proud on the impervious shell. They are every childhood tale, every meal for Squirrel Nutkin, the embodiment of fall. On my kitchen window sill sits a bowl of acorns from last season, dried and several hues more dull than these. With the bounty of the woodland tucked safe in my pocket I turn to take the path home.
Lily skipped along the woodland path, her new fall dress shining deep crimson in the dappled light. She stopped. A red squirrel sat in the path holding onto an acorn. One look a the little girl and it scampered up the nearest tree. "Mommy, do squirrels eat acorns?" Her Mom paused too.
"Yes, love, they do. And some birds, ducks, pigs.."
"Can I, Mom? Can I eat an acorn?" Her mom shook her head.
"No, Miss Petal. You'd get a very sore tummy." Lily's bottom lip jutted out and she slumped on her feet, tummy out. "Would you like to collect some for an art project?" Lily's eyes lit up just the same way they did at the candy store.
"Yes, yes, yes!" Lily danced jiggling her arms up and down, Mom took off her woollen hat and held it out.
"I reckon we can get a lot of acorns in here."
The woodland is like a droplet of paradise. The air is still, only the laughter of children in a nearby park reminds me that I'm still in the city. Here my dog can run free for hours and I can stop to watch nature. The sunlight streams in like it is more pure than the light I feel downtown, white, yet liquid gold at the same time. Nearby, on a rotting spindly tree, is a woodpecker hunting for insects, its brilliant red crest rocking back and forth as it pecks. Tiny chunks of wood fall to the leaf litter below, the sound dissipating into the woodland around.
The trees are veiled in the lightest of mists, their trunks sombre brown with sable cracks that gnarl the bark. As my eye travels to the edge of the woodland they become silhouettes against a blanket of white, as if it is only daylight where I stand, as if I am encircled by twilight.