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Essay On Enchanting Sounds


                                          The Enchanted Garden

There are 3 levels of ability catered for in this ‘The Enchanted Garden’ post: levels 1, 2 and 4. Level one is basic, level 2 is medium and level 4 is advanced. Hopefully, people reading the post will enjoy it and gain ideas for themselves. 

For much more of these types of posts, please check out my new book Writing with Stardust by clicking the book title or by clicking the book images at the bottom of the post.

                                        The Enchanted Garden

Birds                             Flowers                   Animals                  Signs of spring                Others

cooing   pigeondaffodils   burst upbees   buzzinglawnmowers   splutteringbaked-apple   smell in the air
warbling   wrensbluebells   eruptdozy   hedgehogslambs   bleatingvernal   equinox
flute-throated   thrusheslipstick-pink   peoniesbouncing   bunniesfresh   spring showerssalmon   torpedo up rivers
trilling   blackbirdssnowdrops   sprout upfrog   spawn glisteningbuds   floweringVersace-purple   sunsets
cheeping   sparrowLily   of the Valleyopen   beaked chickspollen   floating like pixie dustarcipluvian   rainbows
lilting   robinbuttercups   pop upyolk-yellow   ducklingsblustery   windsspearmint   waft hangs in the air
saucy   starlingslady-like   tulipsbutterflies   flutteringwhispering   grassesgrass   grows at 6 degrees +
carolling   chaffinchcrocuses  floweryipping   fox cubssnipping   shears of gardenersmountain   snowmelt
chattering   magpiedaisies   peep throughopen   beaked chickscobwebs   shimmeringlens   clear ponds
dawn   chorus eruptshoneysuckle   festoons hedgespheasants   cluckingSt.   Patricks Daymidges   hanging like moon dust

                                         Level 1- Spring in the garden

1. Spring brings the sounds of cooing pigeons in the garden.

2. The land heats up and daisies peep through the pea-green grass.

3. Bunnies bounce through the garden like frogs with fur.

4. Buds begin to flower on the trees, adding a splash of colour.

5. The lawnmower splutters to life like the start of a Formula One race.

6. The daffodils look as yolk-yellow as the ducklings in the pond.

7. There is a baked-apple smell in the air. It is the smell of plants growing.

8. The gardener snips the hedge with his shears for the first time this year.

9. The grass finally begins to grow as the temperature hits 6 degrees Celsius.

10. Cheeping sparrows invade the garden looking for juicy grubs and shiny seeds.

Level 2- Looking out my window

Note: The dark spots on the moon were called ‘Marias’ by ancient astronomers who thought they were caused by seas. Now we know that they are dried up lava beds and they are grey, which causes us to see them as dark spots. It’s only relevant because…….well, you will see…

I love looking out the window in springtime. The sun washes the garden with a golden glow and the sugar-frosted coating of winter melts from the grass. Birdsong filters in through the glass. The dawn chorus erupts at daybreak as flute-throated thrushes sing their joy. Bobbing robins usually join in, lilting in an age old melody. We have a garden pond and I can see the frog spawn glistening like mini moons. They even have the dark spots, as if to suggest they are as old and alien as the moon itself. At the end of the garden, there is a small grove of trees. Every year, bluebells burst from the earth with their azure gongs attached. Buzzing bees surf the open spaces from flower to flower, desperately seeking pollen. The pollen looks like floating grains of pixie dust, scattered by the blustery wind.

The grass always seems to whisper in the spring, like a church full of people all saying ssssh together. The stalks sway with a salsa rhythm, nodding their heads in delight. At night, the wind dies down and a newly-minted moon appears, drenching shady glades with silver light.  Yipping fox cubs can be heard in the distance and the lonely hoot of an owl sounds like a phantom lost in the darkness.

When the morning comes, the sun will once again peep through the clouds and inject life into the winter-stunned garden. It becomes lush and bountiful for another year, an oasis for life in a shrinking world.

Level 4-The enchanted garden

Some of the words are difficult to find in certain dictionaries. Therefore, I have put their simplest meaning in brackets after them. It should save time for people reading the passage, which is my intent. For example, the word ‘geosmine’ was alien to me until relatively recently, but it is a word I would have used many times in different contexts had I known it. It is a very alluring and powerful word, but yet none of my dictionaries have its definition. Hopefully, readers will get comfortable with using these wonderful words in their writing. Thanks and I hope you enjoy the Level 4 sample.

Our garden is an enchanted garden.

It is wide and open, sloping gently down to a cosmic-blue river. A copse (grove) of cypress pines flanks us on one side, with a thicket (grove) of peaceful beeches standing guard on the other. Apple trees run through the centre of the garden, casting a lake of claw shadows onto the grass. In autumn, the fiery brilliance of their leaves is a sight: scorching-oranges, burning-browns and molten-reds. Then they drift to the ground as silently and carelessly as an ash cloud, settling in to their eternal rest.

Past the river there is a plush-green meadow which stretches away into vastness and a dragon-backed mountain. In winter, the stricken (overwhelming) loneliness of its peak sends shivers down my spine, wondering how anything could survive up there. The fog that coils around it seems as old and fey (unearthly) and grey as the mountain itself, an alien presence that can dampen any mood. I call it Cimmerian Mountain, the ancient name for the land of perpetual mist. When spring finally comes, arcipluvian (multi coloured) rainbows drench the mountain with coloured fire and the light leaks into the garden.

And that is why I love spring in the garden so much. After January, there is stained glass clarity to the sunbeams. It starts with panes of light poking the shadows and making the earth steam. Midges rise with the grass mist, hanging like moon dust in the glassy haze. Daffodils detonate from the ground overnight as if some necromancer (warlock) had put a spell of banishment on the winter. Hey presto and it’s gone. Lipstick-pink peonies adorn the fringes of the garden and honeysuckle festoons (wraps around) the hedges with its ladylike perfume. The aroma of geosmine (earth smell) percolates through the air. If you inhale deep enough, the potpourri of scents registers as a sweet mix of jasmine, grass vapour and blossoms.

As if on cue, the herald of spring arrives after taking a sabbatical for the winter. The blackbird is the main player in the dawn chorus, his song as clear and fresh as the garden he will later raid. Warbling wrens and carolling chaffinches join him, creating an orchestra of sound. It cascades into the open spaces, ghosts through windows and onto the smiling lips of the sleepers within. This earth song of nature rouses the rest of the animals from their slumber. Dozy hedgehogs totter like zombies as they get drunk on the last of the rotten apples. Butterflies flutter through the air with their velvet wings. Above them, a murmuration (flock) of starling’s loop and reel like wind-tossed gunpowder. As the grass in the garden grows to Jurassic heights, pheasants cluck like cockerels and sprint like roadrunners, celebrating the arrival of spring.

The river I told you about earlier has a magical quality to it that I haven’t seen elsewhere. After the mountain snowmelt has purged it of its brandy-brown hue, usually in February, I love to take pre-breakfast walks down to it. The full glory of the garden is revealed as I idle past the suede soft flowers. They are tingling my fingers with nature’s electricity as I touch them. Jewel-green grasshoppers bounce off the flowers like leggy trampolines. Above me, the vault of sky seems to grow wider and higher as the morning wears on. It increases the acoustics and magnifies the richness of colour. I can hear the lullaby of the breeze swishing through the trees much clearer now and little animals scurry and shuffle in the undergrowth. Versace-purple crocuses peep shyly at me and I am lost in the marvel of springtime.

I can see cobwebs in the grass, glistering in the littoral (of a sea/lake) light that the river reflects. They look like fishermen’s nets of finely meshed steel. There’s the most welcoming of scents in the air, a spearmint aroma that hangs and loiters above the wild garlic. I sit on the bench we made some time back and engage in my favourite past time; river gazing. The water is lens clear and it is easy to spot the speckled trout at the bottom. Every so often, they explode up through the crystal water and soar into the air. Their hang time would do credit to Michael Jordan and like Nike, the Greek god of victory, they must have wings to stay up so long. Iridescent (brilliant of colour) kingfishers flash by in a flurry of blue and gold, using the river as a super highway. Apart from the plunking of trout and the thrumming of wings, it is convent quiet at the bottom of the garden, a haven of peace and solitude.

I sit on the bench, watching the sun slowly rise over the Cimmerian mountain. At first, the lonely peak seems to hinder its ascent and it looks like a torc (crescent necklace) of gloriole-gold (halo of asaint). Then its full splendour reveals itself and it soaks the garden with the effulgence (brightness) of its smile. I can see the sunlight chasing the crab-shadows of the apple trees across the steaming grass. A blackbird alights onto a nearby branch and launches into an avian aria (solo song). Within moments, a fusillade of bird song follows him, rupturing the silence of the morn. It is a welcome invasion of the peace, but I sigh as I get up from the bench. As I wend (wind) my way back through the enchanted garden and towards the house, I have only one wish; that those in slumber land within wear the same, easy smile that plays across my lips.

For much more of these types of posts, please check out my new book Writing with Stardust by clicking the book title or by clicking any of the images below..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Describing a forest is made easy by looking at the post below.

If you wish to access the full chapter in PDF, click here: DESCRIBING A FOREST

This extract is from the book ‘Writing with Stardust’. If you wish to know more about it, just click on any of the book images below. Enjoy the post and I hope it helps you whether you are a student, teacher or a parent.

                                             THE FOREST

COLOUR

LEVEL 1         LEVEL 2         LEVEL 3         LEVEL 4         LEVEL 5          OTHERS

bamboo-brown forestteak-brown forestconker-brown forestumber-brown forestmahogany-brown forest
nut-brown foresttannin-brown forestoak-brown forestbeech-brown forestalmond-brown forest

1. The bamboo-brown forest was a leafy paradise.

2. The teak-brown forest was a woody heaven.

SOUND

creaking treescrinkly floorclacking boughscrackling leavesrustling foliage
crunching twigscrispy grassescrackly fernssnapping branchesphut-phutting nuts

1. The aged trees had creaking branches.

2. The ancient trees stretched away from the crinkly floor.

                                             METAPHORS

castleshigh risesfortressescaretakerssleeping souls
towersskyscraperscitadelsguardianspulsing hearts

1. Trees are the castles of the wood.

2. Trees are the skyscrapers of the glades.

                          ANIMAL SOUNDS OF THE FOREST

snuffling boarscampering haresscreeching jaysshambling badgersloping wolves
slinking wildcatsscurrying squirrelsscuttling rabbitsskittering micelumbering bears

1. Snuffling boar ate under combsof feathery moss.

2. Scurrying squirrels searched for food under bristlesof wispy moss.

                                  THE SHAPE OF STARS

luminous petalslucid snowflakeslambent astersluminous pin prickslucent pentagrams
of silverof  silverof shiny silverof glinting silverof flashing silver

1. Luminous petals of silver freckled the sky.

2. The stars were like lucid snowflakes of silver as they sprinkled the night sky.

EDIBLES OF THE FOREST

mushroomsberrieswild basilstinging nettleplantain
nutswood sorrelwild garlicchickweedfairy ring champignon

1. Mushrooms grew under the shady roof of the forest.

2. Berries lay ripening under the leafy dome of the forest.

                                               OTHER IMAGES

moss-veiled trailshady gladesclumps of mosshoary boughsleafy canopy
leaf-carpeted pathreaching treessecret grovesdrumming woodpeckersJurassic ferns

.wordpress.com/”>Writing with Stardust.

LEVEL 1: BASIC SENTENCES

1. The forest was nut-brown. COLOUR
2. The twigs were crunching under my feet. SOUND
3. The trees were the towers of the forest. METAPHOR
4. I heard a wildcat slinking away. ANIMAL SOUNDS
5. The morning stars shone like silver petals. THE STARS
6. Nuts were scattered on the floor of the forest. FOREST EDIBLES
7. We took the leaf-carpeted path home. OTHER IMAGES
8. The beauty of the forest comforted our hearts. SENSATION
9. The smell of the forest was pulpy. SMELL
10. We picked some berries and they tasted orchard sweet. TASTE

LEVEL 2: A BASIC PARAGRAPH
The forest was tannin-brown. The grass was crispy under our feet. We looked up and the trees were skyscraper tall. Hares were scampering away from us up ahead. The morning stars were shining like silver snowflakes. Wood sorrel flecked the blanket of grass. We walked in and out of shady glades. The peace of the morning was soul soothing. The forest’s smell was fresh and organic. We picked some wild pears and they were meadow sweet.

LEVEL 3: CREATIVE PARAGRAPHS
The forest we entered was oak-brown and primitive. The grasses we stepped on were crackly beneath our feet because of the recent dry spell. We were in awe of the size and majesty of the trees. Their knotted arms rose ever upwards, as far as my head could lift. They were hoary fortresses and stood proudly. The orchestra of birdsong we could hear from them suddenly stopped. A pair of jays was screeching high up in the canopy of the trees. Jays are the scavengers of the bird world. Their cruel, corvid eyes are always on the lookout for a feathered meal. In the winter, they raid squirrel stores for their nuts, often damning them to starvation. They drifted across our vision in a flash of flesh-pink and warlock-black, trying to size us up. That was the last we saw of them, as they are a furtive bird, full of suspicion.
The morning stars peeped down at us like silver asters, glinting and shimmering. They looked happy in their solar-silver isolation. We could see wild basil growing freely on the clumpy, mossy mattress of the floor. The simpering wind carried a fragrance with it. It was spirit refreshing to smell the mulchy mix of the forest’s perfume. We ate a few windfall apples and they were mead sweet with a bitter twist. It was only after we got the stomach cramps that we regretted it.

LEVEL 4: ADVANCED PARAGRAPHS
We were walking through an umber-brown, ancient forest. It reeked of age. Its woody incense was from centuries of snapping branches crashing to the forest’s floor and rotting silently. The composting, organic smell rose up in waves like a miasma. Every sprawling tree we passed under reminded me of a watchful guardian, a silent sentinel of the groves. We decided to venture deeper into the tangled heart of this primeval forest. We hoped that it would reveal its dark secrets to us.
The further we went, the more mystical and spellbinding it became. Huge roots spread-eagled the ground, twisting like the great backs of sea dinosaurs. The foliage became thick and lush, forming an arch of fairytale-green above our heads. Arthritic boughs, gnarled with age, dripped their bounty of nuts onto the path. Briars, brambles and berry trees flanked the trail, making it impenetrable on either side. Shuffling noises came from deep in the interior, deadened by the cunningly woven web of leaves. A troupe of shambling badgers crossed the winding trail in front of us at one point. They were finishing up their early morning foraging and looked startled to see us.
We arrived at a wide glade, where the trees fell away, revealing the bespeckled sky. The last of the morning’s stars were glinting like silver pin pricks, luminous and bright. An ore gold moon hung quietly in the distance, casting a honeyed sheen over the trees. We sat down with our backs against a lightning blasted tree trunk and watched it fade away. As if on cue, an avian aria erupted from the knot of trees. The solitary songbird was soon joined by his beaked companions, creating a symphony of song. The heart haunting melody was an elixir for the soul. The sap sweet fragrance of the forest washed over us and we were seduced by its comforting goodness. We placed some stinging nettle leaves into the broth we were brewing and it added a tingling, chlorophyll flavour. When we were leaving, I risked a glance over my shoulder. The forest glade looked freeze frame perfect in the enhanced light of the full dawn.

LEVEL 5: COMPLEX WRITING: THE ENCHANTED FOREST
The enchanted forest beckoned me into its pulsing heart. How could I resist such a lush Garden of Eden? The deep, haunting ballad of its ancient song called out to me. As old as Adam, the forest was still steeped in plushness and opulence.
With a light heart, I plunged into the over-arching vault of leaf and limb. It was not what I had expected. The exquisiteness of the dawn’s light had not yet lanced to the lush, green sward. Because of this, hoods of black shadow hung in the groves.
Coils of vaporous mist enwrapped the shaggy heads of the oak trees. They writhed around them like a conjuror’s milky smoke, sensuous and illusory. Sieves of mist caressed the lichen-encrusted bark. Adding its phantasmal gas to the damp breath of the forest, it glided with deadly intent. It deadened sound, haunted glades and poured into empty spaces. A sepulchral silence overhung the hallowed ground where the trees dared not grow. Nothing stirred, nothing shone, nothing sang. A hollow echoing, like the hushed tones of a great, slabbed cathedral, entombed the wood.
Then a finger of supernal light poked through the misty mesh. It was followed by a whole loom of light, filtering down in seams of gold. Like the luminal glow of the gods, it chased the shadows, banished the gloom and spilled into spaces where the mist once stalked. The fluty piping of a songbird split the silence just as the forest became flooded with light. A fusillade of trilling and warbling detonated all around me as the primordial forest came alive with the troubadours of the trees. I darted between shafts of lustrous-gold light as I went, admiring the butterflies. They pirouetted in the air, their wings a-whirr like little ripples of silk.
The glory of the forest was revealed in the birthstone-bright light. Almond-brown trees stood serenely, awash with a tender glow. Their bark looked like riffled toast and gems of amber clasped their crusty exterior. The first blush of the morn gave the leafy bower a green-going-to-gold complexion.
Idling past suede-soft flowers, I caressed them softly, getting tingles in my fingers. My ears perked up at the metallic, tinkling sound of a stream. It flashed with a tinsel tint through the lace of leaves. When the trees parted, I could see it was sliding into an infinity-pool. The pool looked like a polished mirror of silver, with skeins of swirl-white twisting slowly on the surface. A shiny spillway led to a choppier pond. Boulders colonized the edges of the pond, buffed with pillows of moss. They caused a rocky gurgling as water met stone; a swish, a clunk, a swell and a clop. Sweet fragrances, alluvial and palliative, seemed to flit in and out of my awareness. Sight and smell vied for attention in this soul-enriching dream world.
I put my back against a knobbly boulder, leaning my head against the mossy pillow. I closed my eyes, let my stream of consciousness take hold, and drifted into infinity. When I awoke, I couldn’t remember my dream, but softness and silvers still lingered in the memory of it.

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The enchanted forest beckoned me into its pulsing heart. How could I resist such a lush Garden of Eden? The deep, haunting ballad of its ancient song called out to me. As old as Adam, the forest was still steeped in plushness and opulence.

With a light heart, I plunged into the over-arching vault of leaf and limb. It was not what I had expected. The exquisiteness of the dawn’s light had not yet lanced to the lush, green sward. Because of this, hoods of black shadow hung in the groves.

Coils of vaporous mist enwrapped the shaggy heads of the oak trees. They writhed around them like a conjuror’s milky smoke, sensuous and illusory. Sieves of mist caressed the lichen-encrusted bark. Adding its phantasmal gas to the damp breath of the forest, it glided with deadly intent. It deadened sound, haunted glades and poured into empty spaces. A sepulchral silence overhung the hallowed ground where the trees dared not grow. Nothing stirred, nothing shone, nothing sang. A hollow echoing, like the hushed tones of a great, slabbed cathedral, entombed the wood.

Then a finger of supernal light poked through the misty mesh. It was followed by a whole loom of light, filtering down in seams of gold. Like the luminal glow of the gods, it chased the shadows, banished the gloom and spilled into spaces where the mist once stalked. The fluty piping of a songbird split the silence just as the forest became flooded with light. A fusillade of trilling and warbling detonated all around me as the primordial forest came alive with the troubadours of the trees. I darted between shafts of lustrous-gold light as I went, admiring the butterflies. They pirouetted in the air, their wings a-whirr like little ripples of silk.

The glory of the forest was revealed in the birthstone-bright light. Almond-brown trees stood serenely, awash with a tender glow. Their bark looked like riffled toast and gems of amber clasped their crusty exterior. The first blush of the morn gave the leafy bower a green-going-to-gold complexion.

Idling past suede-soft flowers, I caressed them softly, getting tingles in my fingers. My ears perked up at the metallic, tinkling sound of a stream. It flashed with a tinsel tint through the lace of leaves. When the trees parted, I could see it was sliding into an infinity-pool. The pool looked like a polished mirror of silver, with skeins of swirl-white twisting slowly on the surface. A shiny spillway led to a choppier pond. Boulders colonized the edges of the pond, buffed with pillows of moss. They caused a rocky gurgling as water met stone; a swish, a clunk, a swell and a clop. Sweet fragrances, alluvial and palliative, seemed to flit in and out of my awareness.  Sight and smell vied for attention in this soul-enriching dream world.

I put my back against a knobbly boulder, leaning my head against the mossy pillow. I closed my eyes, let my stream of consciousness take hold, and drifted into infinity. When I awoke, I couldn’t remember my dream, but softness and silvers still lingered in the memory of it.

For much more of the above, please check out my book Writing with Stardust which is now available on Amazon. Just click any of the book images below.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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