Describing A Forest Colour: Sound
Describing A Forest Colour: Sound
Describing A Forest Colour: Sound
COLOUR
SOUND
4. The arcane limbs of the tree rustled and shook its crackling leaves.
5. The antediluvian trees dripped with delicious, phut-phutting nuts and berries.
METAPHORS
2. The stars were like lucid snowflakes of silver as they sprinkled the night sky.
3. The stars were like lambent asters of shiny silver as they speckled the night sky.
4. The night sky was stippled with stars, like luminous pin pricks of glinting silver.
5. The star-studded sky was flecked like lucent pentagrams of flashing silver.
3. Wild garlic dotted the floor under the canopy of the trees.
OTHER IMAGES
5. The million-fold drip of rain sounded from the world weary, Jurassic ferns.
SENSATION
SMELL
TASTE
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.
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.
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.
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.