In Jane Eyre, Jane describes everything in so much detail. My task was to write a paper observing something with as much detail as Jane would have. How does this sound? How to improve?
Swaying gently in the chilly January breeze, with as much grace as a dancer, I marveled over how something so tall could create such light, elegant loveliness. Years of wear were clearly marked by every crevice, every wrinkle. Sitting silently on the steps behind my house, I watched each fabricated movement, created with chaotic precision. As the midday light shown down upon this stunning work of art-gnarled from age but stronger than ever-hints of light created a kaleidoscope of shimmering color across the whole body. After a hushed moment passed by, a small hummingbird glided past this wonderful figure with many tiny flaps of wings, which were artistically designed to freely carry this bird to the depths of infinity. The bird did nothing to effect the figure, however. With limbs outstretched, this slim beauty looked as if it might embrace the small winged one.
Even as it was dying-leaves hanging on for dear life-the old tree comforted me as if it were my protector from wickedness. The sun was now setting in the distance and well-choreographed arrangements of shadows played tricks with my eyes. The tree presently reminded me of something from Wizard of Oz or Snow White. Looming, alive, poised and ready to grab me. The approaching darkness gave this beautiful tree a look of mystery and a domineering existence. Intrigued, I stepped closer to the tree. Upon approaching my observed woody perennial, the aroma of wet earth entered my nose. It was an enjoyable but awkward smell that pleased me overall. Looking up from under the tree branches, a tangle of confusion awaited me. To my delight, a tiny, adorable squirrel happened to be scurrying up the bumpy trunk-no doubt going home to his family with food. Sneaking into a hole just above my head, I heard the pit-a-pat of his little feet. Gliding my eyes upward once again, along muddy roots; dead, damp leaves; and cracked bark; I spotted a small, roughly crafted nest. It amazed me to see how such a frail thing could trust the overpowering size of the tree before me. Then again, don't we all find comfort in a big pair of arms, embracing our smaller, inferior being? How strange that something so intense could give a sense of safety to a bird or even me when all appearance could suggest a sinister atmosphere.
Stepping away, the sun finally gone to sleep, and taking in the tree as a whole, I felt emotions that have never before taken me over. Observing this tree made me realize how small I was compared to the world. This creation of nature gave me an appreciation for simplicity and delicate power. By the light of the moon, I walked the path back to my porch, up the stairs, and back inside. Inklings of thoughts that I had witnessed an understated miracle still swarming my imagination.
Swaying gently in the chilly January breeze, with as much grace as a dancer, I marveled over how something so tall could create such light, elegant loveliness. Years of wear were clearly marked by every crevice, every wrinkle. Sitting silently on the steps behind my house, I watched each fabricated movement, created with chaotic precision. As the midday light shown down upon this stunning work of art-gnarled from age but stronger than ever-hints of light created a kaleidoscope of shimmering color across the whole body. After a hushed moment passed by, a small hummingbird glided past this wonderful figure with many tiny flaps of wings, which were artistically designed to freely carry this bird to the depths of infinity. The bird did nothing to effect the figure, however. With limbs outstretched, this slim beauty looked as if it might embrace the small winged one.
Even as it was dying-leaves hanging on for dear life-the old tree comforted me as if it were my protector from wickedness. The sun was now setting in the distance and well-choreographed arrangements of shadows played tricks with my eyes. The tree presently reminded me of something from Wizard of Oz or Snow White. Looming, alive, poised and ready to grab me. The approaching darkness gave this beautiful tree a look of mystery and a domineering existence. Intrigued, I stepped closer to the tree. Upon approaching my observed woody perennial, the aroma of wet earth entered my nose. It was an enjoyable but awkward smell that pleased me overall. Looking up from under the tree branches, a tangle of confusion awaited me. To my delight, a tiny, adorable squirrel happened to be scurrying up the bumpy trunk-no doubt going home to his family with food. Sneaking into a hole just above my head, I heard the pit-a-pat of his little feet. Gliding my eyes upward once again, along muddy roots; dead, damp leaves; and cracked bark; I spotted a small, roughly crafted nest. It amazed me to see how such a frail thing could trust the overpowering size of the tree before me. Then again, don't we all find comfort in a big pair of arms, embracing our smaller, inferior being? How strange that something so intense could give a sense of safety to a bird or even me when all appearance could suggest a sinister atmosphere.
Stepping away, the sun finally gone to sleep, and taking in the tree as a whole, I felt emotions that have never before taken me over. Observing this tree made me realize how small I was compared to the world. This creation of nature gave me an appreciation for simplicity and delicate power. By the light of the moon, I walked the path back to my porch, up the stairs, and back inside. Inklings of thoughts that I had witnessed an understated miracle still swarming my imagination.