the smell of a dark forrest. But it’s not dark as “scary” dark. It’s magical. Fresh. Like the smell of rain after a long time of sun. Pines are… calming. It’s a beautiful word.
The scent of pine filled the room. Christmastime. That’s what if reminded her of. He looked up at her, smiling, his teeth a brilliant white. She thought of kissing him under the mistletoe, and tried not to blush at the thought, and failed miserably. He caught the blush and his smile deepened.
My heart bursts, you see, Henry, thinking of you. Little fragments that scatter across the floor like the marbles you bought me once. I don’t know where the marbles are now. Hidden in a box somewhere in a drawer I haven’t looked in since I was nine. I hid everything away after you left. I hid them so that I would never have to find anything again. There are pine trees outside and they remind me of the ones we used to climb, me using your shoulders to stand on. When I stood on your shoulders I felt like a giant, I felt ten feet tall, I felt like if I stretched my hands out they would brush the sky. I felt like your little brother.
I remember that thing you did with your hands in your pockets and your rolling your eyes if I said something stupid, and I wish I didn’t have to remember. Why did you leave, Henry? They tell me your coffin is made of pine. I don’t know if pine decomposes. We didn’t learn it in biology. I only knew the things you told me, like how pulp fiction was a documentary about oranges so that I wouldn’t watch it, or how tears were raindrops and everyone had their own cloud, and how clouds blew away eventually. My cloud never did.
See me sitting here, my sweet, sweet conifer.
Among the tree tops, near sir Douglas Fir.
I swing from your branches, through needle and cone;
In the forest, for you, I am never alone.
Together, we taper, in a tangly branch nest
at long last, our souls align in rest.
The way she pined for maple syrup could only be described as natural. Her wristwatch was made of wood, for as she said, “an oaken clock is right all day erryday.” She owned fur coats, fir coats, and firs with fur coat coats. Greedy? More like TREEDY. She carried it all around in a trunk. Thankfully, she’s considering branching out in the near future.
Pine trees are so beautiful. The first time that i had seen one was at camp.Oh how beautiful nature was to me. I cant wait to go back and get to see more
She pined for him in the summer and in the fall and in the winter. During the Spring she was busy getting the house ready for the rest of the year. As she dusted the pine coffee table that he made her as an anniversary gift, she thought of him again and cried.
The smell of the trees brought her back to 1981, when she was in that cult in the woods where they’d harvest mushrooms from the damp and ride high on the view of blue sky cutting through redwood tops, and she was happy to know that she wasn’t there anymore.
Pines there smell is so aromatic it brings back beautiful memories, Of places and people and thee make me fell loved in the forest so silent and by my self.
Pine trees are totally the Christmas smell. It seems like the minute you see that first add with sleigh bells playing in the background, everything smells like pine. Sometimes it’s those plastic “pine” wreaths or genuine pine from a park nearby. I used to bite the little things off of pine trees. Tasted bitter.
The pine trees loomed over the lovers as they lay entangled on the bed of needles. The pine needles poked them gently in any place they had been foolish enough not to cover in heavy denim, but the lovers couldn’t be stirred from their reverie.
there is pine sap sticky on my hands
pulling pulling pulling
everything i touch stays
there are too many things that stay
i wash and wash and wash
none of them leave
i am not what i want but at least
i am not static, sticky pine
I pine for the time when I was at kindergarten and everything was done for me me no decisions expect will I play in the sand pit or not. I pine for lost friendships. I pine for the tragedies in the world. I pine agonisingly for no reason that I can determine.
I was at the top of the mountain with what was called “the lonesome pine”, a pine that grew at the center of the mountain without anything else around it. Rumor has it, or the stories my aunt told me at least, that it was a beacon to travel into another world. A world where fairies and elves live.
After, Al sits under the pine tree and heaves great, shuddering breaths. She blinks away the sunlight and pretends not to cry- for Chess, for Rose, even for Sable, for the madness in the Queen’s eyes.
The pine trees all across colorado are dying from the dreaded Pine Beetle. It’s sad to see the once majestic trees brown and dying from the inside – I love that so many create and wonderful people have found a use for the now dead wood – from tables to cabinets – they brought the dead back to life. The natural “blue” color of this new wood product highlights the incredible rebirth.
Pine trees blowing in the Washington state breeze. I grew up in the midwest, so pine trees have a special place in my heart. Under which deer rest, and through which I walk to find my next adventure or my last great memory in the forest.
the smell of a dark forrest. But it’s not dark as “scary” dark. It’s magical. Fresh. Like the smell of rain after a long time of sun. Pines are… calming. It’s a beautiful word.
The scent of pine filled the room. Christmastime. That’s what if reminded her of. He looked up at her, smiling, his teeth a brilliant white. She thought of kissing him under the mistletoe, and tried not to blush at the thought, and failed miserably. He caught the blush and his smile deepened.
My heart bursts, you see, Henry, thinking of you. Little fragments that scatter across the floor like the marbles you bought me once. I don’t know where the marbles are now. Hidden in a box somewhere in a drawer I haven’t looked in since I was nine. I hid everything away after you left. I hid them so that I would never have to find anything again. There are pine trees outside and they remind me of the ones we used to climb, me using your shoulders to stand on. When I stood on your shoulders I felt like a giant, I felt ten feet tall, I felt like if I stretched my hands out they would brush the sky. I felt like your little brother.
I remember that thing you did with your hands in your pockets and your rolling your eyes if I said something stupid, and I wish I didn’t have to remember. Why did you leave, Henry? They tell me your coffin is made of pine. I don’t know if pine decomposes. We didn’t learn it in biology. I only knew the things you told me, like how pulp fiction was a documentary about oranges so that I wouldn’t watch it, or how tears were raindrops and everyone had their own cloud, and how clouds blew away eventually. My cloud never did.
See me sitting here, my sweet, sweet conifer.
Among the tree tops, near sir Douglas Fir.
I swing from your branches, through needle and cone;
In the forest, for you, I am never alone.
Together, we taper, in a tangly branch nest
at long last, our souls align in rest.
The way she pined for maple syrup could only be described as natural. Her wristwatch was made of wood, for as she said, “an oaken clock is right all day erryday.” She owned fur coats, fir coats, and firs with fur coat coats. Greedy? More like TREEDY. She carried it all around in a trunk. Thankfully, she’s considering branching out in the near future.
Pine trees are so beautiful. The first time that i had seen one was at camp.Oh how beautiful nature was to me. I cant wait to go back and get to see more
She pined for him in the summer and in the fall and in the winter. During the Spring she was busy getting the house ready for the rest of the year. As she dusted the pine coffee table that he made her as an anniversary gift, she thought of him again and cried.
I pined for him, but silently inside. From the exterior not a soul would know.
I carried on with my daily routine, nothing seemed amiss. But somehow nothing felt alright.
Like a the end of a jigsaw puzzle jutting out.
prickly, aromatic, woody, air fresher, hanging in car, dogs curious and bite
The smell of the trees brought her back to 1981, when she was in that cult in the woods where they’d harvest mushrooms from the damp and ride high on the view of blue sky cutting through redwood tops, and she was happy to know that she wasn’t there anymore.
Pines there smell is so aromatic it brings back beautiful memories, Of places and people and thee make me fell loved in the forest so silent and by my self.
Pine trees are totally the Christmas smell. It seems like the minute you see that first add with sleigh bells playing in the background, everything smells like pine. Sometimes it’s those plastic “pine” wreaths or genuine pine from a park nearby. I used to bite the little things off of pine trees. Tasted bitter.
The pine trees loomed over the lovers as they lay entangled on the bed of needles. The pine needles poked them gently in any place they had been foolish enough not to cover in heavy denim, but the lovers couldn’t be stirred from their reverie.
there is pine sap sticky on my hands
pulling pulling pulling
everything i touch stays
there are too many things that stay
i wash and wash and wash
none of them leave
i am not what i want but at least
i am not static, sticky pine
I pine for the time when I was at kindergarten and everything was done for me me no decisions expect will I play in the sand pit or not. I pine for lost friendships. I pine for the tragedies in the world. I pine agonisingly for no reason that I can determine.
I was at the top of the mountain with what was called “the lonesome pine”, a pine that grew at the center of the mountain without anything else around it. Rumor has it, or the stories my aunt told me at least, that it was a beacon to travel into another world. A world where fairies and elves live.
After, Al sits under the pine tree and heaves great, shuddering breaths. She blinks away the sunlight and pretends not to cry- for Chess, for Rose, even for Sable, for the madness in the Queen’s eyes.
The pine trees all across colorado are dying from the dreaded Pine Beetle. It’s sad to see the once majestic trees brown and dying from the inside – I love that so many create and wonderful people have found a use for the now dead wood – from tables to cabinets – they brought the dead back to life. The natural “blue” color of this new wood product highlights the incredible rebirth.
Pine trees blowing in the Washington state breeze. I grew up in the midwest, so pine trees have a special place in my heart. Under which deer rest, and through which I walk to find my next adventure or my last great memory in the forest.
dgdg