Everything is so ruined. Soiled. Like my assignment. Oh dear, this is going to be another all-nighter for me. 1 minute of writing about being stressed from writing for hundreds of minutes.
she bent down and picked up a handful of the cool, rich earth. As her hand dropped it slowly, letting it slip out of her fingers, she felt the individual stones, rocks, and sand that filtered through her fingers. She enjoyed her garden, and it was all she could do not to spend every hour of every day sitting with her flowers.
Soil is the best kind of dirt, I love to roll in it, like dogs in soil, with compost mixed in. The sweet smell of it as you pick it out of your toes. Mm, mothers should never make children bathe if they are covered in dirt, it’s one of the best kinds of immuno-boosters there is. I want to plant a flower in my dirt.
earth, part of the ground and food for earthworms holder of trees and other plans and the skin of rocks. also the remains of animals and plants. Pretty nifty all things considered
The soil sifted through my fingers, i needed the soil to be soft. fragile enough to plant and hold the baby seeds. the soil is what connects all life. the rain and storms allow it to grow. bad, seeding good. connections of the earth.
there was a lot of soil on the earth. A worm lives in the earth. Therefore his name is earth worm jim. Earth is soil so this makes sense. I feel really dumb writing this. Wow this is a long minute. I don’t think they are timing me.
The soil was dirty as I knelt down to touch the ground. I wished I had worm my old trousers instead of these new ones. Reaching into the soil, I found that the key that I had buried underneath still there. It was rusty and had a root of a plant growing through it, which I found to be the sign that it was meant to remain there. So I decided to leave it as it was, to come back some day in the future and see what I found.
the ground minerals , the soft earth of nature sourounding making the earth around it grow into a beautiful picture of perfection. The soil of the ground is the life of it’s very existence .
Nourishment- assisted living
a nursing home for flowers.
Using resources around to make a home for the plant life.
It aids development,
giving to life,
while taking nothing in return,
only the joy of contributing to beauty.
down, down, deeper into the soil. It had rained recently, so I could feel the ground getting more damp and slimy as I slithered deeper into the earth. When would I reach my destination? my best guess was that it would be a long time before I reached Julie, and the hell that awaited.
The earth flitting as it so does, I plant my hands into the fresh, healthy soil and dig out a small flower for which I do not know the name. I intend to take the specimen home and introduce it to my garden. It should prove an interesting addition.
the dark soil was soft beneath my feet. i ignored my mother yelling at me to put my shoes on, i just kept going until her voice faded away. before i realize where i had headed, i was standing underneath a great oak tree, its branches stretching upward like fingers trying to pluck the sun from the sky.
is the base for all that I do. I garden in it, around a house that sits on it, and I walk upon it after I’ve been working at sea to earn the money that buys the things I do on the soil.
The stinking underworld, strewn with eyeless creatures, festering among the detritus. Coming forth into bloom a radiant flower, rising high up over the soil, to reach the warmth and life of the sun.
soil beneath our feet, getting higher on me. soon to bury him. can i hurt him? grow flowers to cover the soil. forget the brown dirt. try to smile. ignore our sinking. not yet. not him yet. i’d rather be buried first.
Night soil men. Those were the ones who emptied the euphemistic ‘night soil’ from the outhouses in medieval China, were they not? Soil: native soil; native soil; blood, sweat and tears; blood and iron. Pochvennitsy – the soil obsessed.
he placed his soiled boots on the countertop and looked sadly at his wife. she brushed him off and ran up the stairs. from thenceforth the never spoke again. if only someone had warned him what that day would bring, he would have never arisen from his bed.
Every time I arrived at my grandparents’ farm, this giant scent invaded my nose, and I staggered beneath the weight of its complexity: dry grass, manure, gravel dust, cherry pie, burnt oil, sweet gasoline, greased iron, animal musk, hard sweat, and black as the beginning of everything soil.
I planted the peppers in the soil just above the drain pipe. The smell of the processed soil brought concern on how the plant will over come the impurities at the cellular level and provide me with the sweet fruit that so escaped the previous demise of the biomass .
The soil, saturated with the moisture from the first summer rain, squishes and slides between her toes, each painted a different color. She bends down and picks a flower for herself. I’m in love.
My hands dug through the soil. It felt good as it sifter through my fingers. I kept digging deeper and deeper. Where was it? I swear I dropped it around here. I had dug a foot deep now. Still no sign.
slipping through my fingers as i slowly look up. the soft soil between my toes. The soft, velvety spring air was gentle on my skin. how could something as simple as planting a flower mean so much? then I thought: replenishing the earth with it’s fruitful goodness. giving back from what i’ve taken. and one day, not only giving to the earth, but a smile to a face. an escape for a confused love life. a final gift to those who have departed. a sign. a gift. an eternal loop of love.
I was playin with my cousins in the backyard one day when I walked across the sandy earth and found a silver ring. I picked it up and began to wonder. Who was the owner? Was this ring really important to them? It made me think of all the things I’ve ever lost in my life.
in my soil, the dirt in which we grow
how could you let me die? but never let me go?
I know i know, i’ll see some more,
petals on a layer above ours,
but how can you feed me thorns?
when we are both not flowers?
significant soil. I’m not the one who coined that phrase, an now, I can’t remember who was. But that phrase I have used many times in my life to describe the one place I could live and die happily; alaska. I could try to explain it’s beauty, but it’s beauty makes me breathless. And how can you speak without breath?
I wasn’t sure if I could do this. The ground sifted and puffed up in little clouds around my bare feet and I sighed, raising the hoe and slamming it down again. Three more times I tried to get the dusty earth ready for planting but to no avail. Father was going to blame this on me; I just knew it. But
She stood at the doorway, shaking the soil from her boots. It had been a wet day and the soil stuck to her boots, refusing to be shaken off. She was in a hurry and was extremely agitated, this was just another thing sent to annoy and screw up her day.
“Shit!” she exclaimed loudly.
your nails are always so
grimy, the soil
caked underneath. i complain
about them every time
i see them, but you just smile
and say to me
that a little dirt
is a small price to pay
to see something flourish
under your care.
I water you everyday but nothing happens. I guess your roots don’t want to let you go or maybe your soil is intoxicated with the filth of the earth. We are dying and your leaves show it. Only after the last trees have fallen will we be able to start all over again.
Everything is so ruined. Soiled. Like my assignment. Oh dear, this is going to be another all-nighter for me. 1 minute of writing about being stressed from writing for hundreds of minutes.
she bent down and picked up a handful of the cool, rich earth. As her hand dropped it slowly, letting it slip out of her fingers, she felt the individual stones, rocks, and sand that filtered through her fingers. She enjoyed her garden, and it was all she could do not to spend every hour of every day sitting with her flowers.
Soil is the best kind of dirt, I love to roll in it, like dogs in soil, with compost mixed in. The sweet smell of it as you pick it out of your toes. Mm, mothers should never make children bathe if they are covered in dirt, it’s one of the best kinds of immuno-boosters there is. I want to plant a flower in my dirt.
earth, part of the ground and food for earthworms holder of trees and other plans and the skin of rocks. also the remains of animals and plants. Pretty nifty all things considered
The soil sifted through my fingers, i needed the soil to be soft. fragile enough to plant and hold the baby seeds. the soil is what connects all life. the rain and storms allow it to grow. bad, seeding good. connections of the earth.
The soil felt wonderful, cool and clammy to the touch.She passed through her fingers. Letting the clumps fall to the earth.
deep long worms under ground dead livig moles skeleton moving deep sometimes to die in i feel like dirt alot. move thrught sky, heaven
the soil is where the plants grow from. its the start of life in the ground, not the seed, but the home and comfort zone of the seed. aka dirt, haha?
there was a lot of soil on the earth. A worm lives in the earth. Therefore his name is earth worm jim. Earth is soil so this makes sense. I feel really dumb writing this. Wow this is a long minute. I don’t think they are timing me.
The soil was dirty as I knelt down to touch the ground. I wished I had worm my old trousers instead of these new ones. Reaching into the soil, I found that the key that I had buried underneath still there. It was rusty and had a root of a plant growing through it, which I found to be the sign that it was meant to remain there. So I decided to leave it as it was, to come back some day in the future and see what I found.
flowers. growth, wet your pants lol…a garden of life and a lot of other things. rhymes with oil
the ground minerals , the soft earth of nature sourounding making the earth around it grow into a beautiful picture of perfection. The soil of the ground is the life of it’s very existence .
SOIL (i think i’m supposed to e mail it to you)
Nourishment- assisted living
a nursing home for flowers.
Using resources around to make a home for the plant life.
It aids development,
giving to life,
while taking nothing in return,
only the joy of contributing to beauty.
down, down, deeper into the soil. It had rained recently, so I could feel the ground getting more damp and slimy as I slithered deeper into the earth. When would I reach my destination? my best guess was that it would be a long time before I reached Julie, and the hell that awaited.
The earth flitting as it so does, I plant my hands into the fresh, healthy soil and dig out a small flower for which I do not know the name. I intend to take the specimen home and introduce it to my garden. It should prove an interesting addition.
the soil, so rich and dark, wet with death and wet with life, the smallest speck of life that finds its way will thrive.
the dark soil was soft beneath my feet. i ignored my mother yelling at me to put my shoes on, i just kept going until her voice faded away. before i realize where i had headed, i was standing underneath a great oak tree, its branches stretching upward like fingers trying to pluck the sun from the sky.
is the base for all that I do. I garden in it, around a house that sits on it, and I walk upon it after I’ve been working at sea to earn the money that buys the things I do on the soil.
The stinking underworld, strewn with eyeless creatures, festering among the detritus. Coming forth into bloom a radiant flower, rising high up over the soil, to reach the warmth and life of the sun.
soil beneath our feet, getting higher on me. soon to bury him. can i hurt him? grow flowers to cover the soil. forget the brown dirt. try to smile. ignore our sinking. not yet. not him yet. i’d rather be buried first.
Night soil men. Those were the ones who emptied the euphemistic ‘night soil’ from the outhouses in medieval China, were they not? Soil: native soil; native soil; blood, sweat and tears; blood and iron. Pochvennitsy – the soil obsessed.
he placed his soiled boots on the countertop and looked sadly at his wife. she brushed him off and ran up the stairs. from thenceforth the never spoke again. if only someone had warned him what that day would bring, he would have never arisen from his bed.
Every time I arrived at my grandparents’ farm, this giant scent invaded my nose, and I staggered beneath the weight of its complexity: dry grass, manure, gravel dust, cherry pie, burnt oil, sweet gasoline, greased iron, animal musk, hard sweat, and black as the beginning of everything soil.
i took a deep breath and smelled fresh soil. it was probably from potting yesterday. i knew the cats would tear it up though. *SIGH*
in the soil, I plant these seeds. these seeds are ones of hope, determination and prospect. I water them all with effort.
After a long time of waiting, and watering,
they all sprout with the same fruit; Happiness and success.
soil can grow something. although sometime it is a little bit dirty. blabla.
I planted the peppers in the soil just above the drain pipe. The smell of the processed soil brought concern on how the plant will over come the impurities at the cellular level and provide me with the sweet fruit that so escaped the previous demise of the biomass .
The soil, saturated with the moisture from the first summer rain, squishes and slides between her toes, each painted a different color. She bends down and picks a flower for herself. I’m in love.
As she took her last breath she could smell damp soil. She knew it was over for her but she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
It wasn’t a surprise that he should come for her now. She had always expected that he would be the one standing over her in this final moment.
My hands dug through the soil. It felt good as it sifter through my fingers. I kept digging deeper and deeper. Where was it? I swear I dropped it around here. I had dug a foot deep now. Still no sign.
People plant flowers and trees in the soil. Soil is part of nature and is important in every being’s life. It is also healthy(such as soil milk).
slipping through my fingers as i slowly look up. the soft soil between my toes. The soft, velvety spring air was gentle on my skin. how could something as simple as planting a flower mean so much? then I thought: replenishing the earth with it’s fruitful goodness. giving back from what i’ve taken. and one day, not only giving to the earth, but a smile to a face. an escape for a confused love life. a final gift to those who have departed. a sign. a gift. an eternal loop of love.
I was playin with my cousins in the backyard one day when I walked across the sandy earth and found a silver ring. I picked it up and began to wonder. Who was the owner? Was this ring really important to them? It made me think of all the things I’ve ever lost in my life.
in my soil, the dirt in which we grow
how could you let me die? but never let me go?
I know i know, i’ll see some more,
petals on a layer above ours,
but how can you feed me thorns?
when we are both not flowers?
significant soil. I’m not the one who coined that phrase, an now, I can’t remember who was. But that phrase I have used many times in my life to describe the one place I could live and die happily; alaska. I could try to explain it’s beauty, but it’s beauty makes me breathless. And how can you speak without breath?
I wasn’t sure if I could do this. The ground sifted and puffed up in little clouds around my bare feet and I sighed, raising the hoe and slamming it down again. Three more times I tried to get the dusty earth ready for planting but to no avail. Father was going to blame this on me; I just knew it. But
when it’s under my nails I am most vexed. I’m not mexican for god’s sake.
She stood at the doorway, shaking the soil from her boots. It had been a wet day and the soil stuck to her boots, refusing to be shaken off. She was in a hurry and was extremely agitated, this was just another thing sent to annoy and screw up her day.
“Shit!” she exclaimed loudly.
your nails are always so
grimy, the soil
caked underneath. i complain
about them every time
i see them, but you just smile
and say to me
that a little dirt
is a small price to pay
to see something flourish
under your care.
I water you everyday but nothing happens. I guess your roots don’t want to let you go or maybe your soil is intoxicated with the filth of the earth. We are dying and your leaves show it. Only after the last trees have fallen will we be able to start all over again.