The wolf’s den was low, small, cramped, and dark. The photographer was on his belly, camera in hand, shaking. Not because it was cold. He feared his subject as much as he respected it, and he was ashamed of his fear. He thought he knew better.
The smell of rhododendrons filled my world as I stepped into my grandmother’s den. The bright, worn face smiled down at me.
“Can you say rhododendron, Joey?”
“Rho… rhododendrunnn.”
She smiles.
once i was sitting in my den when my father and priest told me that my mother passed away. we stayed in that den for the next 10 years. we never moved cities. we opened christmas presents there. we opened birthday presents there. we watched television. our lives continued and ended in that den.
I’m going to crawl into a little den for the next year or so and isolate myself from this wretched world until I can go to school and be a happy person- that about sums up everything right now!
We sat in the den and watched zombie films for hours and hours. It was warm there. We knew we were safe there. Every time a zombie appeared on the telly screen, you jolted me and tried to startle me. It worked every time. I squealed and giggled. After the films, we sat on the floor, at the coffee table, writing down lists of things we’d absolutely need in the event of a zombie apocalypse. You wrote down the practical things – weapons and rations and money. I wrote down the not very practical things – my blankie and extra undies and clean shirts.
It was cozy, slightly smaller than typical, but the furniture was well worn, appreciated. And she curled up, her eyes bloodshot from the tears and she hugged her throw pillow and her salty tears fell swiftly onto the pages of the love letters she no longer received.
a fox was sleeping in his den, the sun had just come up and it was about time for him to rise for the day. He peeked his head out the den smelling the air of the fresh morning breeze.
In the lion’s den we all try to find our peace- our own personal hero. In the den of the devil we play his games, we play in the hopes that we will better ourselves. But we are no better than the lions sleeping, hungry, in their dens.
The den was the only place I had yet to look, but I never went in there, so I did not bother. It held memories for me that I would not care to talk about.
I walked to the den as I saw my brother doing what he swore he would not; he lied to me. I can’t believe it, the boy I had known since he first fell out of my mother’s womb was sitting there…doing that…
One Christmas, my parents threw a giant family party. Everyone came over. Kerry got a Crayola plastic carousel full of art supplies, and cousin Jodi was horsing around and spilled the red paint onto the green shag carpet in the den.
I’ve always imagined what life would be life living in a wolves’ den. It might be cold in winter or hot in summer. But the best part, i think, would be the camaraderie between me and the other cubs.
The den was full; the sudden storm had herded all near-by creatures into the closest cover available. All the animals quietly sat together, waiting for the storm to pass. No wolf attempted to eat the deer a scant few inches away, nor did the rabbits try to hide from the foxes or owls also inhabiting the cave. After all, they were all comrades at this moment, in the middle of a hell-fire storm.
a place where you sleep snuggle and love. you share explore our dreams by the warm burning fire. you dream of tomorrows and todays just whisk away. a place to forget with the ones you love, and to share experiences.
Comfy place where the family gathers. A place where lions and bears house their young. Cubs are safe in dens. Fireplaces are common in dens for humans.
The entire den filled with light. The withering daisies seemed to bloom like the first spring flowers. The sunlight seeped through every crack between the silk curtains. The letter shined and dance in my hands. Next week. He’s coming home.
The mother bear hurried into her den, only to find it empty. She doubled back, rushing out in a panic to find her lost children. She heard a rustle, and ran, determined to kill whatever stole her cubs. Breaking through the leaves she found them, playing, safe and sound.
“I hate this stupid den. I want to go home,” she mumbled dejectedly as she halfheartedly tried to start a fire. She thought about all the things she missed, but quickly stopped because she could feel tears start to flow down her face.
The den was quiet and dark. No mere could could be seen from the dark corners of the den. If one were to walk into this den they would think how can something be so simple so boring?
My aunt has a den.
It’s going to be her 6 yr old’s room soon.
He wants to paint it camo in honor of our cousin who was killed in Afghanistan 4 weeks ago.
i reach to the top shelf for a book.
i cant reach, even on my tip toes.
you used to reach things i couldnt.
thinking, wondering. where have you been? where have i even been
wishing i knew you
yet wishing i even knew myself
moments meshed together with laughter,smiles, tears.
It was a cozy little room– dark cherry wood walls and shelf upon shelf of books, and a fireplace and a thick soft rug. Several sinfully comfortable chairs.
She called it her haven. He knew why the instant he entered the room, and she knew that he knew. He was truly honored that she had brought him here. They spent hours away from the world, reading and talking and reading.
My personal space where I can hide and rest. Here you are invulnerable, and many fear you, but only because they can’t determine who you really are. Light it, and all shall be better.
A den is a house for a couple of animals, wolfs especially. Wolfs are mammals that live in dens, they usually have about 6 pups, normally about 2 die within the first year.
The wolf’s den was low, small, cramped, and dark. The photographer was on his belly, camera in hand, shaking. Not because it was cold. He feared his subject as much as he respected it, and he was ashamed of his fear. He thought he knew better.
den of thieves. warm, foggy lamp light in a spherical cave. a family of bears sleeping in a corner, a tassled rug in the middle.
inside the bear’s den
lay the hibernating cubs
awakening spring
The smell of rhododendrons filled my world as I stepped into my grandmother’s den. The bright, worn face smiled down at me.
“Can you say rhododendron, Joey?”
“Rho… rhododendrunnn.”
She smiles.
once i was sitting in my den when my father and priest told me that my mother passed away. we stayed in that den for the next 10 years. we never moved cities. we opened christmas presents there. we opened birthday presents there. we watched television. our lives continued and ended in that den.
Curled up in front of a roaring fire, we enjoy the last few days of winter.
The cold has forced us inside, but has given us warmth.
It gave us time, it gave us unity.
It gave us each other.
I’m going to crawl into a little den for the next year or so and isolate myself from this wretched world until I can go to school and be a happy person- that about sums up everything right now!
We sat in the den and watched zombie films for hours and hours. It was warm there. We knew we were safe there. Every time a zombie appeared on the telly screen, you jolted me and tried to startle me. It worked every time. I squealed and giggled. After the films, we sat on the floor, at the coffee table, writing down lists of things we’d absolutely need in the event of a zombie apocalypse. You wrote down the practical things – weapons and rations and money. I wrote down the not very practical things – my blankie and extra undies and clean shirts.
It was cozy, slightly smaller than typical, but the furniture was well worn, appreciated. And she curled up, her eyes bloodshot from the tears and she hugged her throw pillow and her salty tears fell swiftly onto the pages of the love letters she no longer received.
a fox was sleeping in his den, the sun had just come up and it was about time for him to rise for the day. He peeked his head out the den smelling the air of the fresh morning breeze.
My den is one of my favorite rooms … cozy yet large, fireplace filled with candles, comfy places to sit. It is comfort within 4 walls.
In the lion’s den we all try to find our peace- our own personal hero. In the den of the devil we play his games, we play in the hopes that we will better ourselves. But we are no better than the lions sleeping, hungry, in their dens.
Place where you can talk and visit people
Where the dog likes to lay around
Bears sleep here in the winter
Also wolves like to sleep there as well.
my den is not my own
i was put into it
like a lion is put in a cage
i roared in the memory of the fight
The den was the only place I had yet to look, but I never went in there, so I did not bother. It held memories for me that I would not care to talk about.
I walked to the den as I saw my brother doing what he swore he would not; he lied to me. I can’t believe it, the boy I had known since he first fell out of my mother’s womb was sitting there…doing that…
How to get out? The den was dense.
One Christmas, my parents threw a giant family party. Everyone came over. Kerry got a Crayola plastic carousel full of art supplies, and cousin Jodi was horsing around and spilled the red paint onto the green shag carpet in the den.
And so thats where i kept her body
The wolf ran out of it’s den and clamped down upon the rabbit’s throat with it’s razor sharp teeth. Bones crunch, a low squeek, and then limp death.
I’ve always imagined what life would be life living in a wolves’ den. It might be cold in winter or hot in summer. But the best part, i think, would be the camaraderie between me and the other cubs.
The den was full; the sudden storm had herded all near-by creatures into the closest cover available. All the animals quietly sat together, waiting for the storm to pass. No wolf attempted to eat the deer a scant few inches away, nor did the rabbits try to hide from the foxes or owls also inhabiting the cave. After all, they were all comrades at this moment, in the middle of a hell-fire storm.
a place where you sleep snuggle and love. you share explore our dreams by the warm burning fire. you dream of tomorrows and todays just whisk away. a place to forget with the ones you love, and to share experiences.
Comfy place where the family gathers. A place where lions and bears house their young. Cubs are safe in dens. Fireplaces are common in dens for humans.
The entire den filled with light. The withering daisies seemed to bloom like the first spring flowers. The sunlight seeped through every crack between the silk curtains. The letter shined and dance in my hands. Next week. He’s coming home.
The mother bear hurried into her den, only to find it empty. She doubled back, rushing out in a panic to find her lost children. She heard a rustle, and ran, determined to kill whatever stole her cubs. Breaking through the leaves she found them, playing, safe and sound.
“I hate this stupid den. I want to go home,” she mumbled dejectedly as she halfheartedly tried to start a fire. She thought about all the things she missed, but quickly stopped because she could feel tears start to flow down her face.
The den was quiet and dark. No mere could could be seen from the dark corners of the den. If one were to walk into this den they would think how can something be so simple so boring?
My aunt has a den.
It’s going to be her 6 yr old’s room soon.
He wants to paint it camo in honor of our cousin who was killed in Afghanistan 4 weeks ago.
I aspire to having a den of iniquity in my home. As it stands, it is merely a den of inadequacy.
“We is gonna take da keep, ya? And den we go up da stairs to da princess’ room, and we take ‘er fer da ransom.”
A small room, probably almost hidden from all other rooms in the house, a place for men to be men, and children to dream.
I sat peacefully in my den. In the farthest corner as always. The rain gently fall on top the roof and I was completely at ease. I love this.
i reach to the top shelf for a book.
i cant reach, even on my tip toes.
you used to reach things i couldnt.
thinking, wondering. where have you been? where have i even been
wishing i knew you
yet wishing i even knew myself
moments meshed together with laughter,smiles, tears.
i already did this but i wuz just seein if i could do it from my dsi and…..i CAN!
well, we wen down rivah, den we wen up da rivah.
It was a cozy little room– dark cherry wood walls and shelf upon shelf of books, and a fireplace and a thick soft rug. Several sinfully comfortable chairs.
She called it her haven. He knew why the instant he entered the room, and she knew that he knew. He was truly honored that she had brought him here. They spent hours away from the world, reading and talking and reading.
My personal space where I can hide and rest. Here you are invulnerable, and many fear you, but only because they can’t determine who you really are. Light it, and all shall be better.
A den is a house for a couple of animals, wolfs especially. Wolfs are mammals that live in dens, they usually have about 6 pups, normally about 2 die within the first year.
A den to me is a room with alot of wood. A place where you want to go and drink some scotch and smoke a cigar. A place to hang up your dead Animal