I open my eyes and see a huge oak. What is this? Why did I end up here? I walked towards the oak when it started to talk. “I’ve been waiting for you for a while” it said.
Queen and Storm met under an oak tree. It was their little secret, a joking rebellion on a drunken night where they found an acorn and jokingly planted it in a little hidden nook of the city. It was fun back then to pretend like it’d grow so big that they’d be able to see the whole city from its branches. That’s where they had their serious conversations now. As if their thoughts and dreams could now blanket the whole city and shift the world to turn in their favor.
He always fit in among the trees when they went hiking. But there was none like him in the forest. She crashed into his back once, his arm flung out to stop her from walking forward onto a part of the trail that had washed out. Her nose collided with soft flannel – a flash of musk, and the sweet pungent odor of sweat – before she was pushing away and chiding him.
Tomato soup clung to my lip. I licked it off and glanced about. Nobody had seen. What a boring day at the office. I tapped the wooden desk, craned my neck to see if any clients approached the door opposite me. But no, there was nobody. The phones did not ring, and the skeleton staff snored behind their computers. No managers, no workey, right?
I was restless, couldn’t stop thinking about Bob. WOuld he walk past the door again? I glanced at my wristwatch. 12.15. Any minute now he’d flit past and I’d pretend not to notice. My heart fluttered in my chest.
Oak,oak,oak,oak the mad man screamed in glee.
Splinter soaked is the sea,raised a sail on me.
Oak,oak,oak,oak,he went on and on howling.
I could make no sense of him,but he went silent like
all the others as i hit him over the head with,yes you guessed it.
Oak.
More of the oak,do they sell nothing else,is this the only wood that is up for sale.
Ease up Phil,im sure there will soon be another brand or type of wood for sale.
Margret,he spoke her name softly and continued in that manner saying:you are so dull at times
and i care little as nothing for your lousy input on things you nothing of,the calm of him is what always got the best of her.
Tilting his head to the side he spoke again in his cold and calm way:Tears now?
As she opened her mouth too speak out against his cruelty she got interrupted by him claiming it was a rhetorical question,the pain was all to real now and she felt the tears build up within her eyelids,looking at the floor she managed in to utter the words:Pity for those that throw stones at troubled dogs.
He looked crossed,shocked even,feel my pain Phil she said,for it is you who deserves it.
Thats when he hit her.
The oak tree emblem on his coat had been torn to shreds from the shrapnel as he lay bleeding and dying, his throat clogged up with tears, blood and bile to scream for help.
The oak stood mighty before him. “It is not you he is looking for” it boomed from its unearthly heights. Johnny sat up in bed caked in his own sweat and tears. Its back.
In my old house there was a large oak. It sat in the back right corner of the yard, changing its leaves and life and growing and growing just like I did. That oak must have seen so many things in its life. There was a birth near it apparently, probably a few marriages and who knows what else. I hope I see as much as that oak does.
the oak tree stood tall and mighty as John the young stood still and soaked in his own madness.
what a majestic tree it was,he thought to himself as he supressed his emotional rage,the woods always helped
The oak tree loomed large and intimidating in the distance, a mark to march towards from far away. An anchor towards home. I want so much to reach it but I am afraid of how I will feel when I do. Is it made of paper mache up close?
When I lived in the country as a young girl there were many oak trees to climb. My brother and I would climb to the top of the trees and hide from the rest of the family. We also had a tire swing attached to one of the trees which we spent many a summer playing on all day long. I like oak trees.
Those passed oaks will see more winters than you. Enduring every weathering day. Child scratching names into bark. Squirrel making home ‘n’ family. Kings of our land, before stone towers, these were beacons. Knowledge and majesty. They will burn. It’s smell grandeur.
“..The mighty oak tree was once a nut like me.” is the tail end of, by far, one the most inspiring quotes to me. I’m a nut, and I am mighty proud to be one. In fact, I wish more nuts would stand up to join the fight against lazy squirrels that want to eat us, rather than hear what we have to say.
Oak is a tree, generally found in most parts of the world, it grows very tall, and has bushy leaves, its wood is used for furniture – but do not cut it and use.
“Break it down!” she screamed, earning confused – and slightly panicked – looks from her assembled minions.
“Break it down? Is she kiddin’? This’ hand-carved mahogany!” Driscol whispered to his brother.
“Oak, actually. You can tell by the grain-”
“Silence!” she snarled. “I don’t care what it’s made of; I want that door down, NOW!”
My breath and my tears caught in my throat as I screamed his name. I was alone, me and the oak on the hill. We spent so many days here, just passing time. The leaves turned from green to cold to brown and we didn’t change at all on the outside but in the inside I guess chemical reactions are hard to see. The bliss we found in each other during hard times was just a catalyst, and it did the opposite of what we expected- it propelled us into hurt darkness after the reaction was done.
I stood before the oak tree, placing the palm of my hand on the tree’s bark. I stared at the initials carved into it, smiling at the pleasant nostalgia that washed over me.
under the big old oak tree
there seems to be a lot of memories
as a play area from childhood
as a place of comfort during troublesome years
and now as I lookout from my balcony
it feels as if we’re just yesterday
that we were laying down our life plans
under the big old oak tree
I sat beneath the tree, my breath and tears catching as I thought. I thought about everything, how I felt when he was here with me, how I felt when he kissed me, how he looked when he told me he loved me, how the wind stopped and the rustle of the leaves softened and how no animal made so much as a whisper when I heard those words for the first time. When he kissed me, there was no one else that mattered. But now, he is gone, and I am the most important person in my life. He showed me that.
He rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “See? This. This is what I want.”
But she had her back turned to him, gazing instead at a frosted glass-topped dining area lain with embroidered cloth napkins. “You always like those dark earthy colors,” she said. “Don’t you think it makes the room feel heavy?”
Oak birch fir pine they all smell good when you’re down to your last cigarette. Smoke them as fast as you can said the traveling painter. Your only as fit as your last smoke. Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle.
I remember trying to sand the rough edges of that oak table my grandfather had left for me following his untimely death.
No matter how hard I worked on smoothing out the edges, I just couldn’t make it seem to work. I was frustrated.
Our relationship wasn’t the best, and maybe in some strange twist of fate, this oak table was trying to tell me that it was too late. Too late to make things right. Too late to listen.
My grandfather was right, and I was too stubborn to look past his rough exterior to see that he was right.
How do you count the minutes passing by? The seconds tick on and on to the beat of your heart and the breath in your lungs but I prefer to count by the leaves that fall. The oak is so tall and the leaves so brown. Each leaf that drops counting the time of your life.
She sat on the throne of oak, and he on the chair of elm. They overlooked the crowd in silence, thorns decorating their foreheads in a Christ-like fashion. Their talons were hidden from view, their fangs tucked behind their smiling lips. She held a scepter of serpent scales, and somehow, it seemed to move as if it were alive.
The word is still “oak” no matter how many times I click “go” on Oneword.com. Today. It’s the word for today. Ah. Well, I certainly have “monday” head.
“Either way,” the owl said, snug in its tree, hidden from predators, “you will be forced to make a decision. It will not be to your satisfaction, but you must make it anyways.”
The lark stared, eyes beady and trained on its face. “But then, what shall I do from now on?”
“Whatever you like. It’s your choice,” and the owl fell into slumber.
An old oak tree with an ancient swing hanging from its branches. The swing had seen time pass through it. From the little girl being held in her mother’s arms to that same girl learning how to pump her feet to keep the swing moving. Then to her teen years when she cried over her first heartbreak while sitting on that same swing.The oak tree had seen happy times and sad times, but in the end all that mattered was that time inevitably kept on moving and people were able to make it through.
She smiled vaguely at the old oak tree that stood in her front yard, memories of her father surfacing. Ella sighed and turned away from the old oak and began to make her way back to the empty house.
oak trees produce very good wood for burning in a wood stove, which is our sole source of heat in our house during the winter. You have to wait after a tree has been cut down for a year or more, before the wood becomes ‘seasoned’ or ready to burn. If you try to burn it before then it is green and won’t burn. We recently sold several of our big oak trees for upwards of $500 (one truckload)
tree oats cookies water creek peaceful technology woods forest plant animals Richard nick david andres oscar
a tree that is amazing. Sometimes big sometimes small. Cut down wood to get trees. Wood = house. House = money. The end.
I open my eyes and see a huge oak. What is this? Why did I end up here? I walked towards the oak when it started to talk. “I’ve been waiting for you for a while” it said.
adam jackson gives me wood. hard as oak.
Queen and Storm met under an oak tree. It was their little secret, a joking rebellion on a drunken night where they found an acorn and jokingly planted it in a little hidden nook of the city. It was fun back then to pretend like it’d grow so big that they’d be able to see the whole city from its branches. That’s where they had their serious conversations now. As if their thoughts and dreams could now blanket the whole city and shift the world to turn in their favor.
He always fit in among the trees when they went hiking. But there was none like him in the forest. She crashed into his back once, his arm flung out to stop her from walking forward onto a part of the trail that had washed out. Her nose collided with soft flannel – a flash of musk, and the sweet pungent odor of sweat – before she was pushing away and chiding him.
Tomato soup clung to my lip. I licked it off and glanced about. Nobody had seen. What a boring day at the office. I tapped the wooden desk, craned my neck to see if any clients approached the door opposite me. But no, there was nobody. The phones did not ring, and the skeleton staff snored behind their computers. No managers, no workey, right?
I was restless, couldn’t stop thinking about Bob. WOuld he walk past the door again? I glanced at my wristwatch. 12.15. Any minute now he’d flit past and I’d pretend not to notice. My heart fluttered in my chest.
his initials are o.a.k but he reminds me of a willow or a bamboo. he is tall and lanky.
Oak,oak,oak,oak the mad man screamed in glee.
Splinter soaked is the sea,raised a sail on me.
Oak,oak,oak,oak,he went on and on howling.
I could make no sense of him,but he went silent like
all the others as i hit him over the head with,yes you guessed it.
Oak.
More of the oak,do they sell nothing else,is this the only wood that is up for sale.
Ease up Phil,im sure there will soon be another brand or type of wood for sale.
Margret,he spoke her name softly and continued in that manner saying:you are so dull at times
and i care little as nothing for your lousy input on things you nothing of,the calm of him is what always got the best of her.
Tilting his head to the side he spoke again in his cold and calm way:Tears now?
As she opened her mouth too speak out against his cruelty she got interrupted by him claiming it was a rhetorical question,the pain was all to real now and she felt the tears build up within her eyelids,looking at the floor she managed in to utter the words:Pity for those that throw stones at troubled dogs.
He looked crossed,shocked even,feel my pain Phil she said,for it is you who deserves it.
Thats when he hit her.
The oak tree emblem on his coat had been torn to shreds from the shrapnel as he lay bleeding and dying, his throat clogged up with tears, blood and bile to scream for help.
The oak stood mighty before him. “It is not you he is looking for” it boomed from its unearthly heights. Johnny sat up in bed caked in his own sweat and tears. Its back.
In my old house there was a large oak. It sat in the back right corner of the yard, changing its leaves and life and growing and growing just like I did. That oak must have seen so many things in its life. There was a birth near it apparently, probably a few marriages and who knows what else. I hope I see as much as that oak does.
the oak tree stood tall and mighty as John the young stood still and soaked in his own madness.
what a majestic tree it was,he thought to himself as he supressed his emotional rage,the woods always helped
The oak tree loomed large and intimidating in the distance, a mark to march towards from far away. An anchor towards home. I want so much to reach it but I am afraid of how I will feel when I do. Is it made of paper mache up close?
The smell coming from the back house was that of an old oak table that my grandfather had treasured and restore to it true worth.
When I lived in the country as a young girl there were many oak trees to climb. My brother and I would climb to the top of the trees and hide from the rest of the family. We also had a tire swing attached to one of the trees which we spent many a summer playing on all day long. I like oak trees.
When I lived in the country as a young girl there were many oak trees to climb.
Those passed oaks will see more winters than you. Enduring every weathering day. Child scratching names into bark. Squirrel making home ‘n’ family. Kings of our land, before stone towers, these were beacons. Knowledge and majesty. They will burn. It’s smell grandeur.
“..The mighty oak tree was once a nut like me.” is the tail end of, by far, one the most inspiring quotes to me. I’m a nut, and I am mighty proud to be one. In fact, I wish more nuts would stand up to join the fight against lazy squirrels that want to eat us, rather than hear what we have to say.
So there he was. Professor Oak. He lifted his finger and said “Now is not the time to use that!”.
Oak is a tree, generally found in most parts of the world, it grows very tall, and has bushy leaves, its wood is used for furniture – but do not cut it and use.
“Break it down!” she screamed, earning confused – and slightly panicked – looks from her assembled minions.
“Break it down? Is she kiddin’? This’ hand-carved mahogany!” Driscol whispered to his brother.
“Oak, actually. You can tell by the grain-”
“Silence!” she snarled. “I don’t care what it’s made of; I want that door down, NOW!”
My breath and my tears caught in my throat as I screamed his name. I was alone, me and the oak on the hill. We spent so many days here, just passing time. The leaves turned from green to cold to brown and we didn’t change at all on the outside but in the inside I guess chemical reactions are hard to see. The bliss we found in each other during hard times was just a catalyst, and it did the opposite of what we expected- it propelled us into hurt darkness after the reaction was done.
I stood before the oak tree, placing the palm of my hand on the tree’s bark. I stared at the initials carved into it, smiling at the pleasant nostalgia that washed over me.
it is a drink
it has 3 letters in the word
backwards it say kao
i am pretty sure it is from the cows
it is milk drink
it could be chocolate milk
under the big old oak tree
there seems to be a lot of memories
as a play area from childhood
as a place of comfort during troublesome years
and now as I lookout from my balcony
it feels as if we’re just yesterday
that we were laying down our life plans
under the big old oak tree
I sat beneath the tree, my breath and tears catching as I thought. I thought about everything, how I felt when he was here with me, how I felt when he kissed me, how he looked when he told me he loved me, how the wind stopped and the rustle of the leaves softened and how no animal made so much as a whisper when I heard those words for the first time. When he kissed me, there was no one else that mattered. But now, he is gone, and I am the most important person in my life. He showed me that.
He rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “See? This. This is what I want.”
But she had her back turned to him, gazing instead at a frosted glass-topped dining area lain with embroidered cloth napkins. “You always like those dark earthy colors,” she said. “Don’t you think it makes the room feel heavy?”
they grow in woody tangles, braids, intertwining, like your life your past your history; get lost it in, in oldness, age – climb, friend, climb
Oak birch fir pine they all smell good when you’re down to your last cigarette. Smoke them as fast as you can said the traveling painter. Your only as fit as your last smoke. Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle.
I remember trying to sand the rough edges of that oak table my grandfather had left for me following his untimely death.
No matter how hard I worked on smoothing out the edges, I just couldn’t make it seem to work. I was frustrated.
Our relationship wasn’t the best, and maybe in some strange twist of fate, this oak table was trying to tell me that it was too late. Too late to make things right. Too late to listen.
My grandfather was right, and I was too stubborn to look past his rough exterior to see that he was right.
How do you count the minutes passing by? The seconds tick on and on to the beat of your heart and the breath in your lungs but I prefer to count by the leaves that fall. The oak is so tall and the leaves so brown. Each leaf that drops counting the time of your life.
She sat on the throne of oak, and he on the chair of elm. They overlooked the crowd in silence, thorns decorating their foreheads in a Christ-like fashion. Their talons were hidden from view, their fangs tucked behind their smiling lips. She held a scepter of serpent scales, and somehow, it seemed to move as if it were alive.
The word is still “oak” no matter how many times I click “go” on Oneword.com. Today. It’s the word for today. Ah. Well, I certainly have “monday” head.
“It has an oak stain.” I picture a tree on my credenza.
“Either way,” the owl said, snug in its tree, hidden from predators, “you will be forced to make a decision. It will not be to your satisfaction, but you must make it anyways.”
The lark stared, eyes beady and trained on its face. “But then, what shall I do from now on?”
“Whatever you like. It’s your choice,” and the owl fell into slumber.
An old oak tree with an ancient swing hanging from its branches. The swing had seen time pass through it. From the little girl being held in her mother’s arms to that same girl learning how to pump her feet to keep the swing moving. Then to her teen years when she cried over her first heartbreak while sitting on that same swing.The oak tree had seen happy times and sad times, but in the end all that mattered was that time inevitably kept on moving and people were able to make it through.
She smiled vaguely at the old oak tree that stood in her front yard, memories of her father surfacing. Ella sighed and turned away from the old oak and began to make her way back to the empty house.
oak trees produce very good wood for burning in a wood stove, which is our sole source of heat in our house during the winter. You have to wait after a tree has been cut down for a year or more, before the wood becomes ‘seasoned’ or ready to burn. If you try to burn it before then it is green and won’t burn. We recently sold several of our big oak trees for upwards of $500 (one truckload)