Ok, so this is something I was doing for my english coursework. I'm actually choosing between this and the piece I wrote about the spoon (no, I can't be bothered to find the link) but I'll probably just give both in. Any suggestions you make are extremely welcome and helpful, I want to improve this and I definitely want to get an A*!
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The sun is creeping sluggishly across the sky, like the wheeze of an old man in the morning; its rays of light unfurl slowly, reaching out their tendrils until the whole horizon is ablaze.
But the morning light cannot reach my troubled mind, in which thoughts hurl themselves relentlessly against my worn down, weary skull.
The stile in front of me is old and rotten; splinters stick up from its surface like the spikes on windows that warn away pigeons. I put my hand on the weathered surface and shudder as a nights worth of cold and damp seeps into my skin. Clambering over it, my boots slip on the clammy wood and I slip, landing with a thud on the ground below.
I brush myself off and survey the field around me with distaste. It is nothing special; there are two stretches of green grass surrounded by a trodden down track. Framing the field are long lines of trees, their branches rippling slightly in the whisper of breeze that brushes past them.
I walk along the path, treading carefully in a set of footprints that someone has left behind them. Soon, they deter from the trail and I follow them, absorbed as I am in the childish game.
The footsteps disappear suddenly and my game vanishes with them. I look around and realise that I am standing in the middle of a large patch of flatted grass. The edges are irregular, like a large dog has rolled itself around and around this area.
I don’t think about it, I just sit down.
My first thought is that the grass isn’t soft; it isn’t as springy or as comfy as it looks from above.
From my vantage point I cannot see the brow-beaten path, the dull mud or the dead, rotting stile. All I can see is a thick, dancing forest of waving grass and the blue, blue sky above it.
The grass is scratching my head; it is tickling my scalp gently like it’s trying to comfort me.
But still, I am not settled.
Slowly closing my eyes, I take a deep breath in and lean backwards, settling my back against the rocky ground.
With my eyes closed, the world around me suddenly seems much louder. It is a cacophony of noises: whistling, rustling, crunching, moving. Loudest of all is my own body, I can hear my blood pumping furiously through my veins and I am aware of every, tiny movement that I make. I can hear the noise that the grass makes when I twitch my foot, I can hear the whoosh of wind that brushes past my head when I move my hand.
The trees are trailing their leaves through the air. I can hear the gentle rustling as their old branches creak with the movement.
I can hear the voices whispering all around me; the ladybirds gossiping over a daisy and the bees squaring up over a juicy bit of pollen. I hear the flowers chuckling softly at an unseen joke.
Soon, I open my eyes a crack and let the light filter in through my eyelids. Ever so slowly, I open them more, until my eyes are wide open and I can see the azure sky stretching far beyond my line of vision. The wind breathes again and the grass waves in tune with it, creating patterns in the air that make me dizzy and cross-eyed. The sun is burning brightly now, no longer hesitant and shy, it is greedily stretching itself through the heavens. I can see a single cloud making its slow, graceful way past the sun, its shadow falls across my face and my sight is momentarily darkened. Another, smaller, cloud passes by the first, this one is scurrying across the sky: it is like a child who’s late for school.
Even the grass is more beautiful from down here; it is a perfect frame for the sky. The shade of green seems so much brighter and bold now with the sun blazing behind it; the individual blades are like neat cuts in the fabric of the sky.
I take a long, deep breath in and let it out slowly, adding my own DNA to billions of strands that are already floating above my head. I reach out and close my hand around a fistful of air. I am holding life in my hand; I am holding someone’s last breath that they bestowed upon the world; I am holding somebody’s laugh that has floated for hours over the treetops.
All of the world its own story: the air, with the people who’ve breathed it, the trees and their worn, grooved limbs, the splintered stile, beaten down by the countless people who’ve walked over it. And there’s me, with my doubts, worries and problems.
I let it all go, let it be free.
And just like that, the tension seeps out of my body, soaking into the grass and burying itself in the dirt. I feel lighter, freer and happier. I feel like I could fly with the birds and run with the animals. I could sit with the plants for an eternity and never get bored because there are so many new, wonderful things to look at and think about.
The world is so beautiful.
It was also light and airy and not to dense to read, which most thoughtful pieces are. Again I just really loved it and it was great. Wonderful job.
