Soil and roots and rocks and plants and leaves and oil and dead bodies, and we just walk all over it all the time like it’s not even there, don’t think about the fact that we’re treading on history and graves and memories and death and spectacular moments in human history, maybe nothing notable or even particularly extraordinary, but how often do you even stop and think about everything that has happened exactly where you are standing right now?
soil is a vital part of life. it grows. it reproduces. it also gives a home to many living creatures. without soil there would be no trees. without trees there would be less oxygen, and with less oxygen we as humans would struggle. where would we be without soil? perhaps nowhere. but aside from all the science and facts, what does soil mean to you? spiritually? do you care at all that its sitting all around you. sure it helps, but so what? either way its going to always be there, so might as well obtain some sort of opinion or interest. soil is life.
soil is a vital part of life. it grows. it reproduces. it also gives a home to many living creatures. without soil there would be no trees. without trees there would be less oxygen, and with less oxygen we as humans would struggle. where would we be without soil? perhaps nowhere. there is a great possibility that we would be no where without soil. but aside from all the science and facts, what does soil mean to you? spiritually? do you care at all that its sitting all around you. sure it helps, but so what? why should we care? either way its going to always be there, so might as well obtain some sort of opinion or interest. isn’t that what life is about?
Cold, dirty. My cheek ground against the gritty soil. I turned my head. My chin dug into the hard dirt. I could see the tips of black boots inches from my nose. A throaty chuckle sounded above me. It sounded far too malicious.
I plunge my hand into the soil looking for whatever I can grasp before realizing I don’t like dirt. It was a worthless endeavor and I can now add this to my list of ever expanding regrets. Soil makes me want to think of other things, I thought of a tape worm. This has been terrible.
soil is dark. weeds and plants alike grow in it. it can be soft or it can be grainy. there are also many bugs who live in soil. there are many different types of soil. shoe prints can be made in soil to convict someone of a crime. i only say this because i’m watching law and order.
The arrow flies from my bow, I can feel it fly past my arm. It hits the bird dead on. Of course it does! I’ve been doing this my whole life. The blood drips into the soil of the rich brown thick soil of the Earth where the bird landed. It stains a rock red.
Soil. Comfort. This is what comes to my mind when I see the word soil. I remember all the times I spent in my grandmother’s garden as a kid. When I dug in the ground planting tulips in the spring just in time for Easter and my birthday. It’s one of my earliest memories and one of my fondest.
The soil under my feet, loamy and dark. The sky above, wispy and blue. I can see the mountains in the distance, their magnificent glory jutting up from the dirt below.
It dripped into the soil, darkening it for a moment before it vanished below the earth. The bird panicked along the ground which made even more of the red liquid seep into the cold and uncaring earth.
He leaned down and pressed his hand into the soil. It was hard and very, very cold. Tremors ran through his weak body; he knew he could go no farther. Laying flat beneath a cold, yellow-grey sky, he let his eyes close at last. A harsh winter wind blew across the empty tundra and over his still form.
its brown and it doesn’t taste good at any age. its not one of those things that improves over time. soil is often related to snails as they sludge through it. in my opinion, soil is a fairly shit version of mud.
it rained and the soil filled with memories… reflections in the tiny mirrors, past and present combined. they soaked into the ground and there came growth, tiny seedlings sprouting…
The wind picked up all at once, and the dark volcanic soil shifted in one violent movement. Beneath, now exposed to moonlight, glimmered thousands of rigid white things I had to take a moment to place: rows and rows of bones.
the soil felt like ice under his fingernails. What brought him to this very moment? What took him to thinking it was ok to unbury his late friend? He knew his voice in his head told him to do it… but was he crazy enough to really do it? The voice said YES.
he soiled himself
at the thought of death
he knew he had no control
and that alone was enough to break his nerves
he tried to dissolve the thoughts
but it was as if it was starring him in the face
and forcing the urine to deepen the shade of denim upon him
She soaked in soil like most soaked in a book-blessed bubble bath, dipping her hands deep into the black of the fresh-turned earth, never bothering to wipe away what was left to stain her.
Things go into the soil to become part of everything and nothing, all at once. It’s a funny business, Living. We walk upon soil and then become a part of it. We look into the mirror and become the reflection.
My favorite fertility, wraps me kindly in it’s gentle atmosphere. There’s nothing more comforting than the idea of someday returning to the warmths of a modest plot, to be once again ground amongst the holier company of dust and leaves.
It was dirty full of worms beneath the green growing plants. Deep within lay decay and much to say the dead were there to stay. They rest forever only their bones and few remaining clothes. Maybe a wedding ring or two, some silver, and a view of one last moment within their coffin.
The soil slid slowly, then gathered speed as the entire side of the mountain collapsed into the sea. Four days of rain had turned the mountainside to mud, and it could hold off gravity no longer.
Country life depends on soil. When you live and work in the country, and the the soil is dry, nothing goes right out here. The crops don’t grow, which means less money. The hay don’t grow which means the cattle can’t be fed which again, means no money, or paying more to buy hay, or having to sell cattle.
Soil can be fertile. A lot of climates have infertile soil. Spongebob soiled it. Children soil their pants often. Soiling things is bad. But fertile soil is good. What if I soil something but I apply nutrients and nurture? What if I ruin something in its best interest for the future? I could tear apart the world in hopes for the development of the plants. Maybe.
Soil is a great thing. We live because of soil. I like to put my hands in it, squeeze. pull apart the granular pieces with my fingers, get it under my fingernails.
its on the ground. A source for the life we have on earth, the plants and tree. Its also the helper of these trees that provide shelter and food for animals. Its brown, and grainy and has something so pure yet messy about it. yes soil.
Man made soil. From earth . He then invented the verb “to soil”. Should have left it as “earth” and stayed clean and simple.
Soil and roots and rocks and plants and leaves and oil and dead bodies, and we just walk all over it all the time like it’s not even there, don’t think about the fact that we’re treading on history and graves and memories and death and spectacular moments in human history, maybe nothing notable or even particularly extraordinary, but how often do you even stop and think about everything that has happened exactly where you are standing right now?
soil is the quintessence of life. soil is growth and progress. soil is essential
soil is a vital part of life. it grows. it reproduces. it also gives a home to many living creatures. without soil there would be no trees. without trees there would be less oxygen, and with less oxygen we as humans would struggle. where would we be without soil? perhaps nowhere. but aside from all the science and facts, what does soil mean to you? spiritually? do you care at all that its sitting all around you. sure it helps, but so what? either way its going to always be there, so might as well obtain some sort of opinion or interest. soil is life.
soil is a vital part of life. it grows. it reproduces. it also gives a home to many living creatures. without soil there would be no trees. without trees there would be less oxygen, and with less oxygen we as humans would struggle. where would we be without soil? perhaps nowhere. there is a great possibility that we would be no where without soil. but aside from all the science and facts, what does soil mean to you? spiritually? do you care at all that its sitting all around you. sure it helps, but so what? why should we care? either way its going to always be there, so might as well obtain some sort of opinion or interest. isn’t that what life is about?
Cold, dirty. My cheek ground against the gritty soil. I turned my head. My chin dug into the hard dirt. I could see the tips of black boots inches from my nose. A throaty chuckle sounded above me. It sounded far too malicious.
I plunge my hand into the soil looking for whatever I can grasp before realizing I don’t like dirt. It was a worthless endeavor and I can now add this to my list of ever expanding regrets. Soil makes me want to think of other things, I thought of a tape worm. This has been terrible.
Soil, Earth, terra firma, land, and loving it always!
soil is dark. weeds and plants alike grow in it. it can be soft or it can be grainy. there are also many bugs who live in soil. there are many different types of soil. shoe prints can be made in soil to convict someone of a crime. i only say this because i’m watching law and order.
The arrow flies from my bow, I can feel it fly past my arm. It hits the bird dead on. Of course it does! I’ve been doing this my whole life. The blood drips into the soil of the rich brown thick soil of the Earth where the bird landed. It stains a rock red.
He stepped forward, the soil shifting under his feet.
“The trees won’t stand for it,” he said. “They’ll be your enemy from here on out.”
“This should be fun,” she said, clicking her lighter.
my soil is hard , it’s nothing compared to my soul , iwch is burned like a forgotten oldtimer in the House of wax.
Soil. Comfort. This is what comes to my mind when I see the word soil. I remember all the times I spent in my grandmother’s garden as a kid. When I dug in the ground planting tulips in the spring just in time for Easter and my birthday. It’s one of my earliest memories and one of my fondest.
The soil under my feet, loamy and dark. The sky above, wispy and blue. I can see the mountains in the distance, their magnificent glory jutting up from the dirt below.
It dripped into the soil, darkening it for a moment before it vanished below the earth. The bird panicked along the ground which made even more of the red liquid seep into the cold and uncaring earth.
brown. moist. grows our food. smells like worms. dirty. natural. cool. boring. blah. annoying when not in the mood. always somewhere. grows flowers.
He leaned down and pressed his hand into the soil. It was hard and very, very cold. Tremors ran through his weak body; he knew he could go no farther. Laying flat beneath a cold, yellow-grey sky, he let his eyes close at last. A harsh winter wind blew across the empty tundra and over his still form.
its brown and it doesn’t taste good at any age. its not one of those things that improves over time. soil is often related to snails as they sludge through it. in my opinion, soil is a fairly shit version of mud.
it rained and the soil filled with memories… reflections in the tiny mirrors, past and present combined. they soaked into the ground and there came growth, tiny seedlings sprouting…
dirty, rich, brown, disgusting, to turnish… so many words re associated with this soil. Commonly reffered to as the ground, a noun, or as a verb: to
The wind picked up all at once, and the dark volcanic soil shifted in one violent movement. Beneath, now exposed to moonlight, glimmered thousands of rigid white things I had to take a moment to place: rows and rows of bones.
the soil felt like ice under his fingernails. What brought him to this very moment? What took him to thinking it was ok to unbury his late friend? He knew his voice in his head told him to do it… but was he crazy enough to really do it? The voice said YES.
Hohoho. Brown stuff that can miraculously turn white stuff into green plants.
he soiled himself
at the thought of death
he knew he had no control
and that alone was enough to break his nerves
he tried to dissolve the thoughts
but it was as if it was starring him in the face
and forcing the urine to deepen the shade of denim upon him
the fertile land
there is so much soil in this world yet the human race is unaware the importance of soil. Believe it or not but all of our
She soaked in soil like most soaked in a book-blessed bubble bath, dipping her hands deep into the black of the fresh-turned earth, never bothering to wipe away what was left to stain her.
life starts in the soil and also ends in the soil
Things go into the soil to become part of everything and nothing, all at once. It’s a funny business, Living. We walk upon soil and then become a part of it. We look into the mirror and become the reflection.
My favorite fertility, wraps me kindly in it’s gentle atmosphere. There’s nothing more comforting than the idea of someday returning to the warmths of a modest plot, to be once again ground amongst the holier company of dust and leaves.
dirt brown worms ground earth worms plants flowers food vegetables sun rocks sediment wet dry water roots trees poop
It was dirty full of worms beneath the green growing plants. Deep within lay decay and much to say the dead were there to stay. They rest forever only their bones and few remaining clothes. Maybe a wedding ring or two, some silver, and a view of one last moment within their coffin.
The soil slid slowly, then gathered speed as the entire side of the mountain collapsed into the sea. Four days of rain had turned the mountainside to mud, and it could hold off gravity no longer.
Country life depends on soil. When you live and work in the country, and the the soil is dry, nothing goes right out here. The crops don’t grow, which means less money. The hay don’t grow which means the cattle can’t be fed which again, means no money, or paying more to buy hay, or having to sell cattle.
there is this place i love to go when its rainy, there is a huge mountain full with dreamers, there s a store of soil
Soil can be fertile. A lot of climates have infertile soil. Spongebob soiled it. Children soil their pants often. Soiling things is bad. But fertile soil is good. What if I soil something but I apply nutrients and nurture? What if I ruin something in its best interest for the future? I could tear apart the world in hopes for the development of the plants. Maybe.
Soil is a great thing. We live because of soil. I like to put my hands in it, squeeze. pull apart the granular pieces with my fingers, get it under my fingernails.
its on the ground. A source for the life we have on earth, the plants and tree. Its also the helper of these trees that provide shelter and food for animals. Its brown, and grainy and has something so pure yet messy about it. yes soil.
I haven’t soiled anything yet.
Every time I fucking hear a door slam I swear to god it’s him.
I am so sick of disappointing myself.
Soil. Freshly turned. Flowers. Sunlight. Petals. Home.