The old oak tree stood solemnly in the valley. It was an old escape of mine. My friends and I used to go there whenever it rained or snowed. We loved that old oak tree.
I walked up the hill to where my favorite spot used to be… our spot. The last time we conversed at the oak tree had been around seven years ago. We spoke about the future… our future. A future that, now, neither of us would ever know.
I walked up the hill to my favorite spot… our spot. It had been seven years since we last met under the oak tree. Our conversation had been about the future. A future that neither of us would ever know.
I sat by the old Oak tree and waited for him. It had been years since we had last been here, and so much had happened. Was I ready to see my brother again?
She bit the inside of her lip as she entered. Fresh oak, furniture polish, and the smell of new carpet flooded her senses. Her eyes canvassed the walls, looking for any signs of the wall ruler her and her brother prized. But there were only freshly painted white walls. No marks, stains, or chips of broken memory remained.
And there we were, lying upon soft pillows and under cozy blankets that saved us from reality. It wasn’t comfortable at all though… Because his wooden hands were made of an oak tree.
the oak stood apart from the rest. it escaped the axe but its trunk bore marks and bruises and memories. was it oblivious to the pain or did simply choose to rest in its strength? Aloof and vulnerable.
I was impress with the oak tree that stood against the edge of the cliff. Year after year of hurricanes and floods, and it still stand reflecting its strength and the will to survive.
An oak tree sits near the river. alone and lonely. proudly and boastfully blocking sunlight, yet there is no one around to recognize his triumphant feat. proud oak tree.
And as we sat by my favorite oak tree, my palms grew sweaty, my heart raced, and my mouth began to dry. This was the moment I had been waiting for, but I had not the words nor the courage to continue.
Smash through the trees like the shards spread to create the universe. Pure creation is the destruction of something beautiful you never had the strength to let go of.. Nothing is ever diminished and nothing is ever better. We are; the trees, us, and the heat.
The big tall oak tree stands about 30 yards from my house. It is so huge that if someone where to cut it down my house would be nothing but a wood pile!
At the bottom of the field was a huge oak tree, which his grandmother had told tales of climbing when she was a child. He had of course played there too many a summer’s day, but today was the first time he noticed the gap in the bark, just large enough to slide his hand in. He could feel something hard and round at the very back of the crevice, and in a few minutes had worked it loose. Pulling it out into the light, it shone brightly, a ring of silver or platinum , engraved with an intricate, swirling pattern ,and encrusted with tiny jewels, far too many to count. He slipped it on his finger hesitantly, and as it sank into place behind his knuckle, the world changed forever.
I’ve stood alone,
For six hundred years,
In the middle of a forest of trees,
Who look exactly like me,
But do not hold my lines on the inside.
Whom I have never communicated with,
Or rather, who have never understood me.
Just waiting until the day where I’ll be cut down.
I sat beside the tall oak tree, its shade shielding me from the truth-filled daylight. I sat alone for the first time in ages; just me and my thoughts. A journal sprawled out on my lap; listening, and thinking. Content. With myself.
ned he said,
ok, i breathed.
the oak tree was very damp,
there was a maggoty feeling in the air.
it smelled just right,
and i think that was just me
trying to justify this decision.
there wasn’t any I in this tree
just dark safety
as is an acorn to a mighty oak; oakland; strong as an oak. I’m oakay (ha ha); an oak tree shading us, looking down upon us; leaves drifting down from the oak tree.
I used to have an oak tree in my back yard, it was tall and beautiful and it always gave shade to the entire back side of my house which was great for summer picnics and fall birthday parties, but one day…
Oak is a solid wood. It’s smooth, sturdy, and old, ancient as the breeze that rustles through its leaves. This particular oak loomed over the schoolyard of Shady Brooks Elementary, and children regularly dangled from its branches like monkeys
The ttree stood high upon tthe hill on the top of the hill. The ttree had stood ttthere tthrough numourus generattions of families in the ttown that satt far below it. Many children had climbed up it’s mighty branches, and many lovers laid under it’s shade on hott summer afternoons.
Surrounding, a cluster of trees,
Fat from the feast that lay beneath their roots,
Perpetuating the cycle of life:
Sustained, they grow,
Sustained, they sustain,
Conscious or unconscious,
Who can tell?
In their limited view, they possess the wisdom
To ever continue to reach for the heavens,
Which in turn allows those that lie
Beneath them, waking or otherwise,
To do the same.
His tables were oak. He said it to me with pride. He said it as if it was supposed to impress me, but it really didn’t. Oak wasn’t an uncommon wood to use for table-making. He looked at me, disappointed, because apparently I was the first person not impressed by his oak tables. I think the others were just lying to him, because oak tables are not something to obsess over.
Old oak doors. Reminds me of Nightvale. I miss getting the updates regularly, but my iTunes is fucked up on my computer and phone. I really need a new computer. . Gosh, I’m a slow typer.
She saw that the chair was made out of oak. She didn’t know why she was so knowledgable about various types of wood or why that particular detail would leap out at her, but she didn’t feel trying to dive back into the conversation. It had careened so wildly out of control that it seemed impossible to get it back on track after everything. That would simply be far too difficult for either of them.
The mighty oak tree stood resolute on the creeks bank. A reminder of years past, its branches having seen years more than my own eyes. The bark scarred from initials of passers by, it will remain when all of us are gone.
My feet crunched on the sticks below, my feet continued from the rimu, but my I stopped at an old man that towered over me, a little sign stood next to it, ‘ OAK ‘ well that’s your name.
The oak trees shook as the tornado hit the ground, ripping the land to shreds as it roared to life. The various building in its path were tossed haphazardly, as the tree’s were ripped from their century long perch and tossed hundreds of miles away, where they would rot and help new life grow– Life created by the seed that stuck to their long, web-like branches.
The oak tree’s shook as the tornado hit the ground, ripping the land to shreds as it roared to life. The various building in its path were tossed haphazardly, as the tree’s were ripped from their century long perch and tossed hundreds of miles away, where they would rot and help new life grow– Life created by the seed that stuck to their long, web-like branches.
The old oak tree stood solemnly in the valley. It was an old escape of mine. My friends and I used to go there whenever it rained or snowed. We loved that old oak tree.
I walked up the hill to where my favorite spot used to be… our spot. The last time we conversed at the oak tree had been around seven years ago. We spoke about the future… our future. A future that, now, neither of us would ever know.
I walked up the hill to my favorite spot… our spot. It had been seven years since we last met under the oak tree. Our conversation had been about the future. A future that neither of us would ever know.
Big and strong. Staying along. Wize and kind.
I sat by the old Oak tree and waited for him. It had been years since we had last been here, and so much had happened. Was I ready to see my brother again?
While she was walking through woods, something hit her head. It was amusingly unexpected and it triggered an idea. She knew what to do next.
A bit further, pass her steps, a large oak was buried in grass.
She bit the inside of her lip as she entered. Fresh oak, furniture polish, and the smell of new carpet flooded her senses. Her eyes canvassed the walls, looking for any signs of the wall ruler her and her brother prized. But there were only freshly painted white walls. No marks, stains, or chips of broken memory remained.
And there we were, lying upon soft pillows and under cozy blankets that saved us from reality. It wasn’t comfortable at all though… Because his wooden hands were made of an oak tree.
the oak stood apart from the rest. it escaped the axe but its trunk bore marks and bruises and memories. was it oblivious to the pain or did simply choose to rest in its strength? Aloof and vulnerable.
stand proud, you are dressed in oak tree’s leaves.
You, of all people is honorable enough.
I was impress with the oak tree that stood against the edge of the cliff. Year after year of hurricanes and floods, and it still stand reflecting its strength and the will to survive.
it is a tree it grow in northern
An oak tree sits near the river. alone and lonely. proudly and boastfully blocking sunlight, yet there is no one around to recognize his triumphant feat. proud oak tree.
I’d never seen you as a tree till that day in the park. You don’t belong underfoot, a piece of furniture, you’re a squirrel’s perch, porch.
mighty oak
solid roots
never running
always standing
tall
reaching
to the sky
never goodbye
always by my side
standing tall
mighty oak
And as we sat by my favorite oak tree, my palms grew sweaty, my heart raced, and my mouth began to dry. This was the moment I had been waiting for, but I had not the words nor the courage to continue.
Alas, it would all remain a dream.
I suppose it’s what I thought of first. For the record I believe it at the very least.
Smash through the trees like the shards spread to create the universe. Pure creation is the destruction of something beautiful you never had the strength to let go of.. Nothing is ever diminished and nothing is ever better. We are; the trees, us, and the heat.
The big tall oak tree stands about 30 yards from my house. It is so huge that if someone where to cut it down my house would be nothing but a wood pile!
At the bottom of the field was a huge oak tree, which his grandmother had told tales of climbing when she was a child. He had of course played there too many a summer’s day, but today was the first time he noticed the gap in the bark, just large enough to slide his hand in. He could feel something hard and round at the very back of the crevice, and in a few minutes had worked it loose. Pulling it out into the light, it shone brightly, a ring of silver or platinum , engraved with an intricate, swirling pattern ,and encrusted with tiny jewels, far too many to count. He slipped it on his finger hesitantly, and as it sank into place behind his knuckle, the world changed forever.
I’ve stood alone,
For six hundred years,
In the middle of a forest of trees,
Who look exactly like me,
But do not hold my lines on the inside.
Whom I have never communicated with,
Or rather, who have never understood me.
Just waiting until the day where I’ll be cut down.
I sat beside the tall oak tree, its shade shielding me from the truth-filled daylight. I sat alone for the first time in ages; just me and my thoughts. A journal sprawled out on my lap; listening, and thinking. Content. With myself.
ned he said,
ok, i breathed.
the oak tree was very damp,
there was a maggoty feeling in the air.
it smelled just right,
and i think that was just me
trying to justify this decision.
there wasn’t any I in this tree
just dark safety
The tree, twice as wide as she was tall, shone white in the light of the moon, its pearly bark nearly glowing in the surrounding darkness.
as is an acorn to a mighty oak; oakland; strong as an oak. I’m oakay (ha ha); an oak tree shading us, looking down upon us; leaves drifting down from the oak tree.
I am more of a willow ,myself,useless and smelly,and I tend to break easy.
I used to have an oak tree in my back yard, it was tall and beautiful and it always gave shade to the entire back side of my house which was great for summer picnics and fall birthday parties, but one day…
Oak is a solid wood. It’s smooth, sturdy, and old, ancient as the breeze that rustles through its leaves. This particular oak loomed over the schoolyard of Shady Brooks Elementary, and children regularly dangled from its branches like monkeys
The ttree stood high upon tthe hill on the top of the hill. The ttree had stood ttthere tthrough numourus generattions of families in the ttown that satt far below it. Many children had climbed up it’s mighty branches, and many lovers laid under it’s shade on hott summer afternoons.
Surrounding, a cluster of trees,
Fat from the feast that lay beneath their roots,
Perpetuating the cycle of life:
Sustained, they grow,
Sustained, they sustain,
Conscious or unconscious,
Who can tell?
In their limited view, they possess the wisdom
To ever continue to reach for the heavens,
Which in turn allows those that lie
Beneath them, waking or otherwise,
To do the same.
His tables were oak. He said it to me with pride. He said it as if it was supposed to impress me, but it really didn’t. Oak wasn’t an uncommon wood to use for table-making. He looked at me, disappointed, because apparently I was the first person not impressed by his oak tables. I think the others were just lying to him, because oak tables are not something to obsess over.
Two chair with broken legs laid under the oak tree outside of the town.
Old oak doors. Reminds me of Nightvale. I miss getting the updates regularly, but my iTunes is fucked up on my computer and phone. I really need a new computer. . Gosh, I’m a slow typer.
She saw that the chair was made out of oak. She didn’t know why she was so knowledgable about various types of wood or why that particular detail would leap out at her, but she didn’t feel trying to dive back into the conversation. It had careened so wildly out of control that it seemed impossible to get it back on track after everything. That would simply be far too difficult for either of them.
The mighty oak tree stood resolute on the creeks bank. A reminder of years past, its branches having seen years more than my own eyes. The bark scarred from initials of passers by, it will remain when all of us are gone.
Story about an oak;
My feet crunched on the sticks below, my feet continued from the rimu, but my I stopped at an old man that towered over me, a little sign stood next to it, ‘ OAK ‘ well that’s your name.
The oak trees shook as the tornado hit the ground, ripping the land to shreds as it roared to life. The various building in its path were tossed haphazardly, as the tree’s were ripped from their century long perch and tossed hundreds of miles away, where they would rot and help new life grow– Life created by the seed that stuck to their long, web-like branches.
The oak tree’s shook as the tornado hit the ground, ripping the land to shreds as it roared to life. The various building in its path were tossed haphazardly, as the tree’s were ripped from their century long perch and tossed hundreds of miles away, where they would rot and help new life grow– Life created by the seed that stuck to their long, web-like branches.
will you help me ? oak i will help you today. what can i do.