I LOVE TREE AND I LIKE TO CLIMB THEM WITH OUT ANY SHOES ON AND I ALSO THINK ITS SAD WHEN PPL CARVE INTO THEM AND DONT YOU THINK IT HURTS THE TREE. HAVE YOU PPL NEVER SEEN FERNGULLY?!
bloom and blossom like nights in the sky like green and gold and brown and life and me and now it is it is me a tree…free feel the love it’s called shade.
Trees are like the best shade. I like to sit under them and nap and do other things like play card games and stuff. And i used to climb them alot when i was younger. There really fun things to play on.
Trees are from the land of ozark. They came here long ago when they where more mobile than they are now. This planet is kind of like a rest home for them. Back on Ozark there are young trees that run around and engage in all kinds of grabass. The older trees here are of
trees are what give us the free oxygen. this is the one of the best ways to relax. oh man i can’t think of anything else. i’ll just go ahead an write whatever i want i guess.
Trees. Trees have always stood in their precise places, silent witnesses to the horror and beauty of mankind. We’ve chopped them, planted them again, and they remain, witnessing the epic we write.
You can’t see the forest for the trees. That’s what everyone says to me, but I try not to listen too much. I’ve got a lot of work to do. It’s not gonna get done itself. Or is it?
She hid in the trees, so common of her, and I easily found her. When her soft face pierced through the foliage, I shot my gun and got her in the chest. She shouldn’t have hid in the trees
Alder saplings, thick, dark, hot, snap at him like whips from every direction. He’s had to move through the trees, quickly, since hearing the final screams from camp. He never saw exactly what happened, the pines too thick, but he had heard. Yes, he had heard the cries for help, the pleas for life. He didn’t even try and help, which stabbed through the adrenaline rush like tiny pin-pricks across his flesh.
But he was alive. For the time being.
it was a pity, she thought, that in time an entire forest would wither. dust to ashes. empty hands to spaces in between.
across the mossy floor lay hundreds of thousands of crimson leaves
threatening to burn the edges of her vision in a cloud of
chilling smoke.
Trees, dense and pressing in all around her. She looked up into the leaves, so high above her head and blocking out the light. So beautiful, but it was so cold.
are good for the environment, They consume CO2, which is known to be a primary causefor global warming, and releaze the human-friendly oxygen. Tree have attracted a lot of attention lately, with many global companies taking initiatives to plant a try with every sale in an attempt to reduce there carbon foot print. This initiative is ofen marketed as Corporate Social Responsibility.
“I do not think I shall see, anything as beautiful as a tree.” This famous poem, “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer, hung in the kitchen in my childhood home. I recall looking at it everytime I entered the kitchen, throughout the time I lived there. I remember walking into the kitchen one day, and caught my Mother crying in the kitchen one day. She was sobbing as she looked out of the window over the sink. I asked her why she was crying and she said “The neighbors just cut down a beautiful tree for no good reason. It was getting in the way of their plants.”
Years later, I moved into my first condo, in a community called Kilmer Woods. Coincidence or ????
I can remember the feeling I used to get when I would walk for miles and miles to be by myself so that I could lie down on my back amongst the trees and stare up into their canopy. The light of the midday sun peaking through in bits to scatter across my body as it scatters my tense thoughts built up over a week’s time in the city.
I ran between the trees searching for your smile.
I never found it, but I found your frown.
I found my own as well as yours.
You never kiss my fingertips anymore.
The barren trees looked like claws scratching at the icy sky. Their leaves had long fallen to the ground and were now buried under almost a foot of snow.
Trees. Arms reaching to the sky, stretching to touch sun, rain, wind, snow, breathing through branches and leaves, providing shaded canopy for lovers picnicking on soft, green grass.
One of my favorite things in the world. My friend says she likes them because they defy gravity. I thought that was a good point. I agree with her. I thought about what she said for a good 5 minutes.
The trees are coming into spring like something almost being said. Their wakened buds relax and spread, their greenness is a kind of grief. Is it that they grow young? No, they die too. Their yearly trick of looking new is written down in rings of grain. — Philip Larkin (a poet you should check out, if you haven’t already…)
i think that when we die there is a special tree that belongs to us. our soul goes to that tree and we climb the branches until we reach wherever it is we go when we die. and once we make it, our tree simply withers and the seeds from it create new trees of life.
The trunk seemed curved to my exact dimensions. Cuddled up to the bark, I closed my eyes, enjoying how the breeze seemed to want to pitch into this perfect moment, chasing away air that grew to warm on my face.
Trees. Surrounded by trees. Each planted with the knowledge of generations. How much knowledge had been grown in that forest. And how much could be burned down with a single flame.
The trees hummed her lullabies of dear old Past to sleep. The greens’ arms caressed her bosom, showering her with delicate buds of flowers, like snow drops in a winter morning. When she stirred, their breath soothed her troubled soul, smiling as she settled back to dreamland. The roots beneath her tried to cushion her lithe body, fearing that the contact would break her cream skin.
There are many different trees. Trees that tower dozen of stories above the earth. Others bear delicious fruits for the world to enjoy. Others crowd together like a forest of furry green toothpicks. But it’s under only one special tree that i feel in love with you.
The trees are much taller than him, although he is quite tall, and their branches arc over his head like a cathedral roof. He breathes, and the air is full of the taste and smell of wet soil, and his boots sink into the ground.
I’ve been around I guess. I’ve done things I’m not proud of on drugs that aren’t as natural as marijuana. I suppose I like the idea of an optional alternative perspective. But you can’t be choosey with the kind of experience you’d like to have since you never know what you’re gunna get. That’s such a shame too. I just want something that can completely relieve me of who I am right now. Minus the paranoia. Legality’s not a problem. And the issue of health is undebatably non-harmful. Give me a drug just like that.
Yesterday I saw a beautiful willow tree flowing in the wind in my backyard. I know trees cannot speak but this one spoke to me. Its silent whispers made me shiver.
He sat in her tree, outside her bedroom window, staring, watching as her eyes fluttered open. She didn’t even know he existed, but he liked watching her. He’d never have enough courage to talk to her, but this was enough…for now.
I LOVE TREE AND I LIKE TO CLIMB THEM WITH OUT ANY SHOES ON AND I ALSO THINK ITS SAD WHEN PPL CARVE INTO THEM AND DONT YOU THINK IT HURTS THE TREE. HAVE YOU PPL NEVER SEEN FERNGULLY?!
bloom and blossom like nights in the sky like green and gold and brown and life and me and now it is it is me a tree…free feel the love it’s called shade.
Trees are like the best shade. I like to sit under them and nap and do other things like play card games and stuff. And i used to climb them alot when i was younger. There really fun things to play on.
Trees are from the land of ozark. They came here long ago when they where more mobile than they are now. This planet is kind of like a rest home for them. Back on Ozark there are young trees that run around and engage in all kinds of grabass. The older trees here are of
trees are what give us the free oxygen. this is the one of the best ways to relax. oh man i can’t think of anything else. i’ll just go ahead an write whatever i want i guess.
Trees. Trees have always stood in their precise places, silent witnesses to the horror and beauty of mankind. We’ve chopped them, planted them again, and they remain, witnessing the epic we write.
You can’t see the forest for the trees. That’s what everyone says to me, but I try not to listen too much. I’ve got a lot of work to do. It’s not gonna get done itself. Or is it?
She hid in the trees, so common of her, and I easily found her. When her soft face pierced through the foliage, I shot my gun and got her in the chest. She shouldn’t have hid in the trees
Alder saplings, thick, dark, hot, snap at him like whips from every direction. He’s had to move through the trees, quickly, since hearing the final screams from camp. He never saw exactly what happened, the pines too thick, but he had heard. Yes, he had heard the cries for help, the pleas for life. He didn’t even try and help, which stabbed through the adrenaline rush like tiny pin-pricks across his flesh.
But he was alive. For the time being.
it was a pity, she thought, that in time an entire forest would wither. dust to ashes. empty hands to spaces in between.
across the mossy floor lay hundreds of thousands of crimson leaves
threatening to burn the edges of her vision in a cloud of
chilling smoke.
Trees, dense and pressing in all around her. She looked up into the leaves, so high above her head and blocking out the light. So beautiful, but it was so cold.
are good for the environment, They consume CO2, which is known to be a primary causefor global warming, and releaze the human-friendly oxygen. Tree have attracted a lot of attention lately, with many global companies taking initiatives to plant a try with every sale in an attempt to reduce there carbon foot print. This initiative is ofen marketed as Corporate Social Responsibility.
The trees were close together here. They provided enough shade from the August sun and a great hiding place for when she needed to escape for a while.
“I do not think I shall see, anything as beautiful as a tree.” This famous poem, “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer, hung in the kitchen in my childhood home. I recall looking at it everytime I entered the kitchen, throughout the time I lived there. I remember walking into the kitchen one day, and caught my Mother crying in the kitchen one day. She was sobbing as she looked out of the window over the sink. I asked her why she was crying and she said “The neighbors just cut down a beautiful tree for no good reason. It was getting in the way of their plants.”
Years later, I moved into my first condo, in a community called Kilmer Woods. Coincidence or ????
I can remember the feeling I used to get when I would walk for miles and miles to be by myself so that I could lie down on my back amongst the trees and stare up into their canopy. The light of the midday sun peaking through in bits to scatter across my body as it scatters my tense thoughts built up over a week’s time in the city.
I ran between the trees searching for your smile.
I never found it, but I found your frown.
I found my own as well as yours.
You never kiss my fingertips anymore.
The barren trees looked like claws scratching at the icy sky. Their leaves had long fallen to the ground and were now buried under almost a foot of snow.
Rest your back a while
After riding many a mile
Take for granted the comfort brought
But take full advantage, perhaps not
beautiful tall green and brown. treehouses. oxygen producing. in danger from deforestation. many types from palm trees to conifers. hard to draw a
Trees. Arms reaching to the sky, stretching to touch sun, rain, wind, snow, breathing through branches and leaves, providing shaded canopy for lovers picnicking on soft, green grass.
They’re always truer than humans, did you know that?
there is something primal
about wanting to climb
trees
perhaps just
to gain
a different
perspective of the ground
One of my favorite things in the world. My friend says she likes them because they defy gravity. I thought that was a good point. I agree with her. I thought about what she said for a good 5 minutes.
Dark, green. some smell nice, and they hurt like a bitch when you get hit in the face with one.
They’re also kinda pretty, I guess.
“are we lost?” he kept asking.
“well,” i said “it’s kind of hard to get lost when you don’t know where you are going”
The trees are coming into spring like something almost being said. Their wakened buds relax and spread, their greenness is a kind of grief. Is it that they grow young? No, they die too. Their yearly trick of looking new is written down in rings of grain. — Philip Larkin (a poet you should check out, if you haven’t already…)
i think that when we die there is a special tree that belongs to us. our soul goes to that tree and we climb the branches until we reach wherever it is we go when we die. and once we make it, our tree simply withers and the seeds from it create new trees of life.
The trunk seemed curved to my exact dimensions. Cuddled up to the bark, I closed my eyes, enjoying how the breeze seemed to want to pitch into this perfect moment, chasing away air that grew to warm on my face.
Once in a memory, I watched the wind blow through the trees’ leaves.
Trees. Surrounded by trees. Each planted with the knowledge of generations. How much knowledge had been grown in that forest. And how much could be burned down with a single flame.
The trees hummed her lullabies of dear old Past to sleep. The greens’ arms caressed her bosom, showering her with delicate buds of flowers, like snow drops in a winter morning. When she stirred, their breath soothed her troubled soul, smiling as she settled back to dreamland. The roots beneath her tried to cushion her lithe body, fearing that the contact would break her cream skin.
There are many different trees. Trees that tower dozen of stories above the earth. Others bear delicious fruits for the world to enjoy. Others crowd together like a forest of furry green toothpicks. But it’s under only one special tree that i feel in love with you.
arbol, fanning, full, leaves, dry, falling, hanging, suspension, roots, rooted, branches, vines, drift, mast
The trees are much taller than him, although he is quite tall, and their branches arc over his head like a cathedral roof. He breathes, and the air is full of the taste and smell of wet soil, and his boots sink into the ground.
I’ve been around I guess. I’ve done things I’m not proud of on drugs that aren’t as natural as marijuana. I suppose I like the idea of an optional alternative perspective. But you can’t be choosey with the kind of experience you’d like to have since you never know what you’re gunna get. That’s such a shame too. I just want something that can completely relieve me of who I am right now. Minus the paranoia. Legality’s not a problem. And the issue of health is undebatably non-harmful. Give me a drug just like that.
Are we all connected via energy? Do we borrow energy from our earth, our trees to be born? When we die, are we returning that energy?
trees overhead and around. a forest of the mind. dense and crowded, the ferns in between, rustling like so many thoughts rushing through my mind.
Yesterday I saw a beautiful willow tree flowing in the wind in my backyard. I know trees cannot speak but this one spoke to me. Its silent whispers made me shiver.
He sat in her tree, outside her bedroom window, staring, watching as her eyes fluttered open. She didn’t even know he existed, but he liked watching her. He’d never have enough courage to talk to her, but this was enough…for now.
big. beautiful. elegant. out of place. in the way. unorderly. massive. leafy. bothersome. annoying. gorgeous. times up.