Creative Writing Prompt #2: Nature Scene
#2 of Creative Writing
This is another prompt from my Creative Writing class. We were given a nature topic, which was to be our title, and told to write descriptive imagery about that nature scene and given about 40 minutes. Here's mine.
Sitting Under a Weeping Willow Tree
A small, sleeping red fox sits beneath the weeping willow tree, its fur a vivid orange of captured sunlight resting beneath the soft green of the tree's branches. Its eyes are closed in its peaceful slumber, a splash of white rests on its muzzle, and pours down its belly. One of its ears quivers and shakes while the fox slumbers, dreaming of warm summer days, when the rays of sunlight shine off of its flame-colored coat, dazzling the sky with its brilliance; a day that is today, the day that the tired fox decided to rest, its ashen-colored paws exhausted from running hard upon the smooth, neatly-trimmed crisp green grass.
The fox sought shelter underneath the cool shade of the weeping willow tree it now slumbers beneath, the thin tendrils of tears from the crying willow fall around the tired fox, protecting it from the harsh rays of the sun that beat down upon the pale willow tree. The tree strains from its efforts to protect the fox, its branches hanging down, like old, ragged curtains that have long ago lost their luster and effect upon the living room guests, and have resorted to becoming nothng but a distant memory.
The shade of the tree casts nearly invisible shadows upon the fox, shadows that dance and writhe in agony, reflecting the mood of the sorrowful willow tree that is rooted to the ground, never able to move. Its roots are strong, deeply embedded into the ground, going down and down and down for seemingly endless miles that stretch on forever into infinity.
The fox slumbers on, the agony of the weeping willow tree it has sought shelter and safety from unknown to its quick and distant mind. A breeze gently flies past the pair, sending a wave of movement through the tired tendrils hanging down towards the ground. The breeze stirs the tips of the fur of the tired fox, sending smaller waves of peace through the fox's entire body, comforting its aching limbs. The wind rushes through the fox, from the black tip of the flame-colored fox's long, bushy tail to its sharply-pointed snout that rests upon the ground, and the fox feels these waves in its dreams, its amber eyes beneath the closed eyelids shine with delight at the rushed feeling that the fox thinks it feels in its dream, though it truly experiences it in its awareness of the world.
The scent of the weeping willow carries the scent of rusty-coated tears, a scent that is pleasing to all but the tree itself, as it sits there, rooted to its sad spot, choking under its own weight of tired tendrils dragging it down to the ground. The trunk, however, defies the tendrils, and keeps its roots embedded into the ground, knowing that it must continue to shelter tired animals, such as the peacefully slumbering fox at present.
The odor of the tree is carried by the breeze into the fox's consciousness, mixing with its dream like the ingredients of delicious food that is to be served to people greatly cared for. The fox gains the closest semblance possible to that of a pleasing smile, as the fox melts into its dream, the flame-colored fur deepening into a pool of fire, alive and dancing with the wind as the sun shines down through the tired tendrils of the weeping willow tree, who wants to be free from its prison, but yearns to continue its purpose of providing cool, welcoming shade for all the tired, little fire foxes who need its reliability and protection from the never-ceasing poundings of the sun's searing rays.
~bhscorch