Soil is dirt. It can be wet or dry but the best thing about soil is that it reminds me of spring and tomato plants. I planted a garden with my dad once and we planted tomato plants. It was a great spring. I went outside every day to dig in the soil. I’ll never forget it. That’s why I love the smell of earth and tomato plants.
i like soil. it helps me to grow beautiful plants. it is dark and earthy. It makes a mess yet creates life. Then again life usually is a mess. As much as it is messy it is also beautiful. Just like the earth, the soil.
Death and life are in the soil. You plant and you bury. Flowers and weeds are in the soil. You prune, uproot, and harvest. The soil is but an oxymoron. Its significance for one, differs in its significance for another. It is fickle. Soil can be fertile or futile. It holds no prejudice.
Soil can be a thing, but also a happening. Not something you choose, something you follow without meaning to. To soil oneself, to dirty everything that came before. All the skin cells waiting seven years to fall away and be replaced clean. The ones that leave are planted in soil, growing in dirt with the dead growing too. Falling into the dust collecting under your bed and between the folds of your eyelids. Making something that implies nothing, a chore your own hands bring upon you.
the soil was a dark, rich black. the little buds of blooming flowers were just peeping through the soft soil. new life was just beginning. the beauty of the nature just being born was the start of a gorgeous new era
just forget about it. step on it, murder it, make it your friend. he will forget, he will take you back and embrace you in death, one more time, as in the day you were born
soil soil soil soil soil soil soil soil ….. it is the very dirt in whick all good things grow and its dark and black but smells the best after rain. it stains your nails and is hard to get off your clothes …. soil what the crap can i really say about soil that hasnt been said already !!! rhymes with oil and boil and coil……… soil – god gift to plants !
The soil was rich, rich with blood of the many people I had just killed. I swear I am not a bad person I have needs. Far to many needs to be satisfied by the animals I feed on daily. Today I was just so thirsty and I needed to feast.
Soil is beautiful. It’s like skin on the earth. It’s crumbly and round pieces break apart in your fingers. It’s softness under your nails. Creating streaks on your skin.
Soil. Without it, there would be no life on earth. All around us, there are crops and plants, the producers who give us energy. The world is a cycle, where everything is interrelated. If we watch the world from an objective point of view, we can see that, for instance, Action A yields into Action B (in the most bizarre ways at times).
Soil is used as a fertilizer for plants, it helps them to maintain their moisture… It acts as food to them… It is also a habitat for species like worms
The soil is, to me, the strongest material. Something so easily moved about, can grow and support something so beautiful. Such as a delicate rose. Her petals so soft felt and colors so majestic. And how is that just some dirt can create something that catches the eye?
Thus, soil brings out life. Makes desert plains into garden miracles. We take to granite these small wonders of the worl, such as soil. Open your eyes and see the true beauty around you.
Soil creates life. Without soil, there will be no place for plants to grow, without plants, there will be no herbivores, without them there will be no carnivores, and thus humans would cease to exist. There will be no life, there will be no oxygen, the nitrogen cycle wouldn’t occur, and many other necessities that are required to sustain life on this planet would not exist.
He was crouched by the drystone wall at the edge of his land. The dry, dusty soil ran through his fingers as he grabbed and squeezed it in his palms. The day was another cloudless one, though he scanned the vacant expanse above him hoping to spot a forming wisp that would swell then heave and gush over the dirt. Deep down he knew there was no thing he could do to provoke a wet sky, but desperation had him almost believing there was some weird smelling potion or esoteric book of spells that would bring forth a deluge. He’d probably have to sacrifice a goat and pour the blood onto the dust whilst he chanted strange words from an ancient, black-bound book and danced an odd, non-rhythmic jig. At least that was how he imagined it. He’d do it too, if it was the only way.
the days went by fast it rained and raid bus as soon as it stopd raining i went out side to the soil. it was muddy and wet but i still spent the day outside diging and planting i was covered in soil and dirt. win it got dark i went inside to sawer of and read my favert book called my mothers wish, thats win i heard somthing in my garden i got my flashlight and opend the door whos thare i yelled but what happend nest still shokes me to this day. a tall plant i never seen before was right in the middel of my garden it was green with light barrys glowing in the dark.i stard at the plant its eyes followed me as i wocked to my garden ever time i lookeed at its yellow eyes i gasped and backed up wispring this is a dream this is not real but the plant ansred me “this is real” said the plant “i come with gifts for you would u like them” still in shock i shock my head no “very well” said the plant and with that it vanished.
for the nest week the plant came back with gifts saying i would love thim so on the last night the plant came i said yes the nest thing i know the plant had moved and changde into the most buteful rose bush i have evr seen
i liked the taste of dirt when i was little i never knew why it was the mixture of the salt and the grit. I remember my mum always trying to pull it from my mouth so as i grew older i took smaller bites and tried to hide it from her. Now i just dream of eating it, my teenager years is when i had my last taste, the last time I dared to put it in my mouth.
Soil. Plain at fist thought, beautiful the next. I would love to go outside right now and throw my hands into soil. Too bad it’s winter. Soil is so lovely…
One bright spring day alice walked around and soon found a hole. Interested, she moved in closer. Before she knew it she was falling down head first into the soil.
It is brown. It is on the ground. It helps plants grow. Its fun to play with. You can make mud pies out of soil. It also come in all different kinds for different plants. its soft and fluffy sometimes. its underneath grass. You can buy it at the store in the gardening section. It makes pretty flowers grow.
People always focus on the seed being planted, and the plant that emerges from it. But what they don’t think about are the elements that went into that seed that turned into the plant. The soil. The water. The sunlight. The unsung, unloved, unnoticed heros of the Earth. The parents.
Soil. I tried writing about soil once, and it did not go well. I think this experience has made me realize my lack of writing skills, especially on the spot. Thus, I’m sure to have trouble in English class next semester.
The soil was warm and fresh, dark and rich as he turned it with his spade. It would do just fine for his purpose. He laughed inwardly. It wasn’t what most people would have thought of; that was just another thing that made him different. No, not just different. Better.
The soil dirty and rich with our roots of love and affection grew darker every day. With every word you mutter, with every note of music you write, I fall deeper into our soil, planting a new seed of love. Growing a flower.
Welcome to the Good Earth. That’s what they say, at least. But the earth here is anything but good. It will take your seed, your toil, and your blood. It will swallow you whole and give you nothing in return.
I love the soil. It is from the ground where plants grow from. It is filled with roots and worms and many kinds of creatures. The soil is usuallydark brown. Ut comes from the Lird. It is a mistakenly forgotten blessing to be thanked for everyday.
He could not clean his brain folds. It would be better if he could spread them and wipe them with a vigorous scrubbing, but that would mess up his brain. Not to wipe them at all would leave them foul and itchy. Humiliating as it was, he decided to put a diaper on his brain and hoped that someone else would notice and change and bathe and wipe his brain folds clean. Maybe some nice young nurse. Maybe God.
It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d been hiking. But it would almost certainly be the last.
The air was damp and smelled like soil– at least at first. Then there was something sweeter, something deeper, something infinitely more troubling.
She’d been around enough to know the smell of decomposition; sweet and searing and wrong.
I always used to play with the worms in the backyard, when the soil was especially moist after a placating spring rainstorm. They didn’t do much, but I loved them anyway. They had a lot of life in them.
Soil is dirt. It can be wet or dry but the best thing about soil is that it reminds me of spring and tomato plants. I planted a garden with my dad once and we planted tomato plants. It was a great spring. I went outside every day to dig in the soil. I’ll never forget it. That’s why I love the smell of earth and tomato plants.
i like soil. it helps me to grow beautiful plants. it is dark and earthy. It makes a mess yet creates life. Then again life usually is a mess. As much as it is messy it is also beautiful. Just like the earth, the soil.
Death and life are in the soil. You plant and you bury. Flowers and weeds are in the soil. You prune, uproot, and harvest. The soil is but an oxymoron. Its significance for one, differs in its significance for another. It is fickle. Soil can be fertile or futile. It holds no prejudice.
Soil can be a thing, but also a happening. Not something you choose, something you follow without meaning to. To soil oneself, to dirty everything that came before. All the skin cells waiting seven years to fall away and be replaced clean. The ones that leave are planted in soil, growing in dirt with the dead growing too. Falling into the dust collecting under your bed and between the folds of your eyelids. Making something that implies nothing, a chore your own hands bring upon you.
the soil was a dark, rich black. the little buds of blooming flowers were just peeping through the soft soil. new life was just beginning. the beauty of the nature just being born was the start of a gorgeous new era
just forget about it. step on it, murder it, make it your friend. he will forget, he will take you back and embrace you in death, one more time, as in the day you were born
my comfort comes from myself, words a hollow imitation of a warm hand.
like this i bury myself in the shallow earth. i am not happy, but i also
cannot breathe.
it’s all i have, and the closest i have found to peace.
soil soil soil soil soil soil soil soil ….. it is the very dirt in whick all good things grow and its dark and black but smells the best after rain. it stains your nails and is hard to get off your clothes …. soil what the crap can i really say about soil that hasnt been said already !!! rhymes with oil and boil and coil……… soil – god gift to plants !
The soil was rich, rich with blood of the many people I had just killed. I swear I am not a bad person I have needs. Far to many needs to be satisfied by the animals I feed on daily. Today I was just so thirsty and I needed to feast.
Soil is beautiful. It’s like skin on the earth. It’s crumbly and round pieces break apart in your fingers. It’s softness under your nails. Creating streaks on your skin.
Oh, Tennessee. You’ve been good to me.
And I’ve come to believe, you’re where I wanna be.
You may not be what everybody needs.
It’s been ten years now and I’m rooted in your soil,
I am rooted in your soil.
-Mindy Smith
Soil. Without it, there would be no life on earth. All around us, there are crops and plants, the producers who give us energy. The world is a cycle, where everything is interrelated. If we watch the world from an objective point of view, we can see that, for instance, Action A yields into Action B (in the most bizarre ways at times).
Soil is used as a fertilizer for plants, it helps them to maintain their moisture… It acts as food to them… It is also a habitat for species like worms
dirt is squisy and it helps to furtilize plants… It’s like their food, and it’s very moist! Worms live in it…
The soil is, to me, the strongest material. Something so easily moved about, can grow and support something so beautiful. Such as a delicate rose. Her petals so soft felt and colors so majestic. And how is that just some dirt can create something that catches the eye?
Thus, soil brings out life. Makes desert plains into garden miracles. We take to granite these small wonders of the worl, such as soil. Open your eyes and see the true beauty around you.
Her pretty pink dress was soiled. She was sigting there in the mud absolutely covered in the muck of the pig pen. Tears forming rivers on her face.
Soil creates life. Without soil, there will be no place for plants to grow, without plants, there will be no herbivores, without them there will be no carnivores, and thus humans would cease to exist. There will be no life, there will be no oxygen, the nitrogen cycle wouldn’t occur, and many other necessities that are required to sustain life on this planet would not exist.
He was crouched by the drystone wall at the edge of his land. The dry, dusty soil ran through his fingers as he grabbed and squeezed it in his palms. The day was another cloudless one, though he scanned the vacant expanse above him hoping to spot a forming wisp that would swell then heave and gush over the dirt. Deep down he knew there was no thing he could do to provoke a wet sky, but desperation had him almost believing there was some weird smelling potion or esoteric book of spells that would bring forth a deluge. He’d probably have to sacrifice a goat and pour the blood onto the dust whilst he chanted strange words from an ancient, black-bound book and danced an odd, non-rhythmic jig. At least that was how he imagined it. He’d do it too, if it was the only way.
the days went by fast it rained and raid bus as soon as it stopd raining i went out side to the soil. it was muddy and wet but i still spent the day outside diging and planting i was covered in soil and dirt. win it got dark i went inside to sawer of and read my favert book called my mothers wish, thats win i heard somthing in my garden i got my flashlight and opend the door whos thare i yelled but what happend nest still shokes me to this day. a tall plant i never seen before was right in the middel of my garden it was green with light barrys glowing in the dark.i stard at the plant its eyes followed me as i wocked to my garden ever time i lookeed at its yellow eyes i gasped and backed up wispring this is a dream this is not real but the plant ansred me “this is real” said the plant “i come with gifts for you would u like them” still in shock i shock my head no “very well” said the plant and with that it vanished.
for the nest week the plant came back with gifts saying i would love thim so on the last night the plant came i said yes the nest thing i know the plant had moved and changde into the most buteful rose bush i have evr seen
i liked the taste of dirt when i was little i never knew why it was the mixture of the salt and the grit. I remember my mum always trying to pull it from my mouth so as i grew older i took smaller bites and tried to hide it from her. Now i just dream of eating it, my teenager years is when i had my last taste, the last time I dared to put it in my mouth.
Soil. Plain at fist thought, beautiful the next. I would love to go outside right now and throw my hands into soil. Too bad it’s winter. Soil is so lovely…
Her dress was filthy.
Well, that’s what happened when you rolled in the grass with your boyfriend. You were bound to get a bit dirty, Mussed.
Oh well. If there was anything the daughter of a laundress knew it was how to get clean again.
One bright spring day alice walked around and soon found a hole. Interested, she moved in closer. Before she knew it she was falling down head first into the soil.
It is brown. It is on the ground. It helps plants grow. Its fun to play with. You can make mud pies out of soil. It also come in all different kinds for different plants. its soft and fluffy sometimes. its underneath grass. You can buy it at the store in the gardening section. It makes pretty flowers grow.
People always focus on the seed being planted, and the plant that emerges from it. But what they don’t think about are the elements that went into that seed that turned into the plant. The soil. The water. The sunlight. The unsung, unloved, unnoticed heros of the Earth. The parents.
Soil. I tried writing about soil once, and it did not go well. I think this experience has made me realize my lack of writing skills, especially on the spot. Thus, I’m sure to have trouble in English class next semester.
The fertilization of soil has led the entire world’s modernization with the introduction of irrigation systems and the mass production of cash crops.
grounding, gritty, granted (taken for), the base of all, the medium of life, dirty and determinant. underlying, everywhere. that was 60 seconds?!
The soil was warm and fresh, dark and rich as he turned it with his spade. It would do just fine for his purpose. He laughed inwardly. It wasn’t what most people would have thought of; that was just another thing that made him different. No, not just different. Better.
The soil dirty and rich with our roots of love and affection grew darker every day. With every word you mutter, with every note of music you write, I fall deeper into our soil, planting a new seed of love. Growing a flower.
Dirt, dry and hot. They Bury you in it, the last handshake a scatter on your casket like spit.
Welcome to the Good Earth. That’s what they say, at least. But the earth here is anything but good. It will take your seed, your toil, and your blood. It will swallow you whole and give you nothing in return.
A life that will never fall far from its tree; rooted in the ground of its apathy; on antidepressants.
I love the soil. It is from the ground where plants grow from. It is filled with roots and worms and many kinds of creatures. The soil is usuallydark brown. Ut comes from the Lird. It is a mistakenly forgotten blessing to be thanked for everyday.
He could not clean his brain folds. It would be better if he could spread them and wipe them with a vigorous scrubbing, but that would mess up his brain. Not to wipe them at all would leave them foul and itchy. Humiliating as it was, he decided to put a diaper on his brain and hoped that someone else would notice and change and bathe and wipe his brain folds clean. Maybe some nice young nurse. Maybe God.
an important things, , where fossil fuel came from, where we made from, we cannot live without it.
an important things, it’s a basic of energy , where fossil cae from
It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d been hiking. But it would almost certainly be the last.
The air was damp and smelled like soil– at least at first. Then there was something sweeter, something deeper, something infinitely more troubling.
She’d been around enough to know the smell of decomposition; sweet and searing and wrong.
plants green day
flowers the natrue in it the
mother natrue of it
I always used to play with the worms in the backyard, when the soil was especially moist after a placating spring rainstorm. They didn’t do much, but I loved them anyway. They had a lot of life in them.