She continued to walk on her way up through the mountains. And as she looked out across the valley all she could see were pines softly swaying in the mountain breeze.
The old ute emerged from beneath the pines, heaving under the strain of Uncle Jack’s raucous family; two daughters and seven sons, arms and legs flailing from the sides of the rusty mule, sounding like the circus.
Someone far from home pines for that which is familiar. Though memories be strong, the longing for reality is stronger. Those taken from us can never return , and their memory is but a shadow, cast upon the cavity their absence leaves in our lives; still there, but merely less obvious.
In the heat
Here centrally, amidst, amongst, between
Swimming in sweat and sodden with the strength of the sun –
I can remember the pines
Those straightened and erect
Stiff with the righteousness of winters to come
the pines surrounded us, densely hiding what lied beneath the shell of the wooded emerald green forest of maine. though dark, it was enchanting, enticing, something of my worst nightmares and my darkest dreams. it called (whispered) my name, trying to seduce me into its safe yet paralyzing haven.
I was in Baguio when i first saw pine trees. From these trees come pines. I wonder why pineapples have pine in it. Oh, they have a pine resemblance. But where’s the apple? I do not see the apple. Sometimes, when you ask a filipino how they are, if they’re barok, they might say “I’m pine.”
The Pines was a strip club on the corner of an alley that no one went to, and it was a mystery to even me how I got there when I was stoned and drunk as a log. No one should have been able to find their way to the place perfectly sober and with a good sense of direction, neither of which I had.
there were trees in the forest. trees like pines and evergreens that just made me want to breath. breath like i never had before. i just wanted to inhale and exhale as if all that mattered depended on those breaths that i made. the trees made me feel at home.
The Pines was a bar and strip club off the side of some city street in a corner no one went to. And how I got there at nine thirty at night, stoned and drunk, made no sense to me.
The majestic pine trees loomed over him as he ran. Pine needles dug into the soft flesh of his feet and his calves began to burn as the Duke sprinted past the burnt down village he had been ordered to protect. He had failed and soon the enemy would capture him, forcing him to pay the price for his arrogance and foolishness. The scent of charred sap and wood overwhelmed his senses.
We were finally driving home. His hand, resting on my knee as he drove, felt comforting. I was finally going to see my family again. I had been waiting too long. The pine trees on the side of the road counted the miles down.
The pines stood like sentries, guarding the ancient forest from marauders and plunderers. Unfortunately, they were no match for a lumber crew wielding finely-honed axes.
Pines were on the ground as she stepped towards the body. She shivered as she remembered what happened here. How did it come to happen? She saw the blood first, then the hand, then his face. She smiled.
As she sat in the corner of her room, rocking back and forth, she cried. She was pining to have a soul mate with who she could share her last days, but she knew she couldn’t. She had a painful desire to been seen and heard. But no matter how much she screamed for attention, she knew she would never get it. Not after all she’d done.
Among the pines he noticed a young woman dressed in black. She gazed at the blue sky and he wondered why she had a sad face.
Did someone she cared about die?
Or was it something else?
He followed her gaze and noticed a murder of crows flying south.
He turned back to her but as if earth had swallowed her up she was nowhere to be seen.
However he noticed a single crow rising from the pines and flying toward the sky…
Every Christmas we go to get the tree, and it reminds me of my family, and the wonder of life. The months after the holidays are gloomy, and dull; not exactly, but they’re just not the joyful days of the holidays. I’ve been without a job since January; and looking for one is the biggest pain in my arse, and the cause of all my stress. Specifying my availability is also a bitch. I can’t do mornings on the weekdays, because I have to watch my sister’s child while she attends graduate school. But I can’t do nights on the weekends because my mom works overnight, and I use her car to get around. One time things were so rough; crying baby, mom yelling, the stress of not having money saved, and the feeling of not living for myself. And to add to that, this lady called me for an interview, and she was nothing short of bitch. When life knocks me down, I find myself wishing I had a boyfriend who I can just hug, and vent to, but I don’t. Sometimes I drive to the woods just to walk around, because all that relaxes me is the smell of the pines.
The Eastern Grey Squirrel barely dodged the Fiscal Shrike’s dive bomb attack as she dashed towards the tall Pine tree across the road. She decided to cross the road despite the oncoming truck bearing down on her. The relentless shrike was not perturbed by the steel behemoth either.
What pines? Dogs. People who’ve lost loved ones.Or, ‘You’ll find his house just past the pines.’ Birds avoid pine trees. Not much grows underneath pines, except mushrooms.
The swoosh of the pines echoed in the forest. There was nobody there.
I am in there.
There is nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard; there’s really nothing going on.
I am going on.
You are going on.
What the fuck is going on.
Is that a bear holy shit what the fuck
This isn’t how I expected camping to be like at all please help me somebody I found a tarantula
The dog makes this odd sound as we walk through the trees that suggests he’s missing something, and that maybe we should talk about it. I keep looking up at the canopy and wondering whether, perhaps, I should start walking alone.
The forest was thick and green, nothing but pines and spruces and oaks and every other kind of tree you could think of as far as the eye can see. It was the kind of place it would be easy to get lost in.
Or lose yourself in.
It pines me to see you like this. It’s hurting me. I don’t know why, it just does. WHy can’t you just be like a normal guy? Why do you have to be so complecated? I don’t understand it.it
The pines run down the mountain sides on the side of the beach in the middle of the ocean underneath the waterfall in the boundless fields of space which speckle the sky with stars who’s light shines as bars of a prison mockingly trapping us until we die.
In between the pines, I could trace the fine, peppery ribbon of smoke that caressed the bark and left wisps of crisp, wooden odor along the dirt path. As I kept walking, I remembered the three most important items on my person: My horn, my knife, and my pendant. And the pendant, of course, was most important of all. As I parted a particularly bushy branch from my way, I could see the amber glow of a fire whimpering in front of me.
Pines. Rhymes with wines. Pines on a tree, prickling at your fingers. Ow! Christmas smells, ringing the bells. Pines are fresh, like the dew in the morning.
Needles designed to sew and repair
a heart that was supposed to be there.
Beyond the place of happiness that was promised
I found the ring of love on a finger of fondness.
All necessary pieces and parts are missing.
This marriage machine was built only to kiss me.
I left to spare him of the sickness, the cold
But we will both be stricken until we are old.
Ten little trees overlooking the ridge. The first was the tallest, the proudest, the longest, the loudest. He said things that the others did not hear, for he had his head in the clouds. The second was smaller, wider, wanted to fly farther, higher, but could not for she was buried too deep in the ground. The third was absurd, a strange reach far from others, in his own side of the forest. The fourth was the worst, angry unsorted, wishing for something beyond what was there. The fifth and the sixth, were twins from their birth. Unwilling to be unearthed. The seventh through the ninth were the most sporting of pines, the kindest and wisest. The tenth is me, and I say to you why the story of these ten little pines.
tall, green, spikes from the side
all in line
never out of order
climbing up the hillsides
the needles soft under your feet
but in your hands the wrong way round they prick you
The pine tree was all I could see from my bedroom window. That and the stars. I used to sit up in bed and dream about anything and everything. Because it all seemed so possible, when nothing but stars and the silhouette of a tall tree, that stood in the distance was there to cloud my vision.
Allen walked along the path until it narrowed sufficiently enough to no longer be called a path. He looked up at the tall pines and inhaled their signature aroma. Wow, he thought. He didn’t know whether to be envious of these majestic, immortal trees or feel sorry for them.
The pines sway in the wind. The needles fall to the ground, coating the world in their golden color. The fall breeze chills all those who watch, as they float to the ground.
the pine trees were covered in snow. a blanket of soft white over green branches, as far as the eye could see. it was the only forest for miles, offering a quiet winter refuge for those lost in the mythical territory.
She continued to walk on her way up through the mountains. And as she looked out across the valley all she could see were pines softly swaying in the mountain breeze.
The old ute emerged from beneath the pines, heaving under the strain of Uncle Jack’s raucous family; two daughters and seven sons, arms and legs flailing from the sides of the rusty mule, sounding like the circus.
Someone far from home pines for that which is familiar. Though memories be strong, the longing for reality is stronger. Those taken from us can never return , and their memory is but a shadow, cast upon the cavity their absence leaves in our lives; still there, but merely less obvious.
I wandered through the thick forest, skipping past the dark green pines. The smell of sweet-grass perfumed the woodland giving it a fresh musty aura.
In the heat
Here centrally, amidst, amongst, between
Swimming in sweat and sodden with the strength of the sun –
I can remember the pines
Those straightened and erect
Stiff with the righteousness of winters to come
the pines surrounded us, densely hiding what lied beneath the shell of the wooded emerald green forest of maine. though dark, it was enchanting, enticing, something of my worst nightmares and my darkest dreams. it called (whispered) my name, trying to seduce me into its safe yet paralyzing haven.
I was in Baguio when i first saw pine trees. From these trees come pines. I wonder why pineapples have pine in it. Oh, they have a pine resemblance. But where’s the apple? I do not see the apple. Sometimes, when you ask a filipino how they are, if they’re barok, they might say “I’m pine.”
The Pines was a strip club on the corner of an alley that no one went to, and it was a mystery to even me how I got there when I was stoned and drunk as a log. No one should have been able to find their way to the place perfectly sober and with a good sense of direction, neither of which I had.
there were trees in the forest. trees like pines and evergreens that just made me want to breath. breath like i never had before. i just wanted to inhale and exhale as if all that mattered depended on those breaths that i made. the trees made me feel at home.
The Pines was a bar and strip club off the side of some city street in a corner no one went to. And how I got there at nine thirty at night, stoned and drunk, made no sense to me.
The majestic pine trees loomed over him as he ran. Pine needles dug into the soft flesh of his feet and his calves began to burn as the Duke sprinted past the burnt down village he had been ordered to protect. He had failed and soon the enemy would capture him, forcing him to pay the price for his arrogance and foolishness. The scent of charred sap and wood overwhelmed his senses.
We were finally driving home. His hand, resting on my knee as he drove, felt comforting. I was finally going to see my family again. I had been waiting too long. The pine trees on the side of the road counted the miles down.
The pines stood like sentries, guarding the ancient forest from marauders and plunderers. Unfortunately, they were no match for a lumber crew wielding finely-honed axes.
Pines were on the ground as she stepped towards the body. She shivered as she remembered what happened here. How did it come to happen? She saw the blood first, then the hand, then his face. She smiled.
As she sat in the corner of her room, rocking back and forth, she cried. She was pining to have a soul mate with who she could share her last days, but she knew she couldn’t. She had a painful desire to been seen and heard. But no matter how much she screamed for attention, she knew she would never get it. Not after all she’d done.
Among the pines he noticed a young woman dressed in black. She gazed at the blue sky and he wondered why she had a sad face.
Did someone she cared about die?
Or was it something else?
He followed her gaze and noticed a murder of crows flying south.
He turned back to her but as if earth had swallowed her up she was nowhere to be seen.
However he noticed a single crow rising from the pines and flying toward the sky…
Every Christmas we go to get the tree, and it reminds me of my family, and the wonder of life. The months after the holidays are gloomy, and dull; not exactly, but they’re just not the joyful days of the holidays. I’ve been without a job since January; and looking for one is the biggest pain in my arse, and the cause of all my stress. Specifying my availability is also a bitch. I can’t do mornings on the weekdays, because I have to watch my sister’s child while she attends graduate school. But I can’t do nights on the weekends because my mom works overnight, and I use her car to get around. One time things were so rough; crying baby, mom yelling, the stress of not having money saved, and the feeling of not living for myself. And to add to that, this lady called me for an interview, and she was nothing short of bitch. When life knocks me down, I find myself wishing I had a boyfriend who I can just hug, and vent to, but I don’t. Sometimes I drive to the woods just to walk around, because all that relaxes me is the smell of the pines.
The Eastern Grey Squirrel barely dodged the Fiscal Shrike’s dive bomb attack as she dashed towards the tall Pine tree across the road. She decided to cross the road despite the oncoming truck bearing down on her. The relentless shrike was not perturbed by the steel behemoth either.
What pines? Dogs. People who’ve lost loved ones.Or, ‘You’ll find his house just past the pines.’ Birds avoid pine trees. Not much grows underneath pines, except mushrooms.
The swoosh of the pines echoed in the forest. There was nobody there.
I am in there.
There is nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard; there’s really nothing going on.
I am going on.
You are going on.
What the fuck is going on.
Is that a bear holy shit what the fuck
This isn’t how I expected camping to be like at all please help me somebody I found a tarantula
The dog makes this odd sound as we walk through the trees that suggests he’s missing something, and that maybe we should talk about it. I keep looking up at the canopy and wondering whether, perhaps, I should start walking alone.
The man sat on the cool ground next to a young pine, and it was to this young pine he spoke about the joys of Christmas.
I worried for you
when the distance silence came
again, and again
in vain my mind conjured up all sorts
to explain…to explain
but it was the no answer,
the unexpected delay
that narrowed my eyes,
squeezed my heart
made me wait…wait…
The forest was thick and green, nothing but pines and spruces and oaks and every other kind of tree you could think of as far as the eye can see. It was the kind of place it would be easy to get lost in.
Or lose yourself in.
It pines me to see you like this. It’s hurting me. I don’t know why, it just does. WHy can’t you just be like a normal guy? Why do you have to be so complecated? I don’t understand it.it
The pines run down the mountain sides on the side of the beach in the middle of the ocean underneath the waterfall in the boundless fields of space which speckle the sky with stars who’s light shines as bars of a prison mockingly trapping us until we die.
spiky, round seeds
cut them up a bit,
add a color here & there —
you have a christmas tree.
spiky, round seeds
they are not what they seem.
As she walked through the pines the breeze whispered through the trees, and the sound made from them was like a song she had never heard before.
In between the pines, I could trace the fine, peppery ribbon of smoke that caressed the bark and left wisps of crisp, wooden odor along the dirt path. As I kept walking, I remembered the three most important items on my person: My horn, my knife, and my pendant. And the pendant, of course, was most important of all. As I parted a particularly bushy branch from my way, I could see the amber glow of a fire whimpering in front of me.
Pines. Rhymes with wines. Pines on a tree, prickling at your fingers. Ow! Christmas smells, ringing the bells. Pines are fresh, like the dew in the morning.
Needles designed to sew and repair
a heart that was supposed to be there.
Beyond the place of happiness that was promised
I found the ring of love on a finger of fondness.
All necessary pieces and parts are missing.
This marriage machine was built only to kiss me.
I left to spare him of the sickness, the cold
But we will both be stricken until we are old.
Ten little trees overlooking the ridge. The first was the tallest, the proudest, the longest, the loudest. He said things that the others did not hear, for he had his head in the clouds. The second was smaller, wider, wanted to fly farther, higher, but could not for she was buried too deep in the ground. The third was absurd, a strange reach far from others, in his own side of the forest. The fourth was the worst, angry unsorted, wishing for something beyond what was there. The fifth and the sixth, were twins from their birth. Unwilling to be unearthed. The seventh through the ninth were the most sporting of pines, the kindest and wisest. The tenth is me, and I say to you why the story of these ten little pines.
tall, green, spikes from the side
all in line
never out of order
climbing up the hillsides
the needles soft under your feet
but in your hands the wrong way round they prick you
The pine tree was all I could see from my bedroom window. That and the stars. I used to sit up in bed and dream about anything and everything. Because it all seemed so possible, when nothing but stars and the silhouette of a tall tree, that stood in the distance was there to cloud my vision.
the pines in the woods grow next to the maples and aspens. they smell fresh and green. Their needles fall to the ground.
Allen walked along the path until it narrowed sufficiently enough to no longer be called a path. He looked up at the tall pines and inhaled their signature aroma. Wow, he thought. He didn’t know whether to be envious of these majestic, immortal trees or feel sorry for them.
The pines sway in the wind. The needles fall to the ground, coating the world in their golden color. The fall breeze chills all those who watch, as they float to the ground.
Pines. Pine Needles. poking my bare feet as I race across the forest floor, leaving the home I once called mine.
The air was crisp and pine trees were tall. Elizabeth shrugged the thick wool blanket tighter around her and waited for the sun to rise.
the pine trees were covered in snow. a blanket of soft white over green branches, as far as the eye could see. it was the only forest for miles, offering a quiet winter refuge for those lost in the mythical territory.