Find me out the eassy of garden
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The essay of a garden is......
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. .......
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