tree. shade, spreading branches. birds nesting and singing. reading a book while sitting leaning against the tree trunk. Big leaves falling to the ground. elm beatles. trying to escape.
Pamela Wells
The elm tree stood long and tall in the front yard. I looked up at its bare skinny branches. I remember being very young, and very small, thinking that the elm–at the time the plant was only about 4 years old–was the tallest thing since seeing my parents. I remember how limited my perception was. I remembering thinking that the whole world was bigger and taller and faster and better than me. As I grew the tree stayed in the front yard, stretching with every year. I watched the seasons whip through it’s branches like a blustery wind. Delicate buds dropping into bright green blades, and crackly fall leaves the colors of Thanksgiving falling to expose the branches. I grew older too, as the elm tree did, and my world view shifted, like an ocean tide. The tree was still tall, and I was taller too, though still much shorter than it. And the world was still bigger, and taller, faster, and better than me.
An elm branch fell and whacked me in the face, and then Jeremy laughed at me. It wasn’t funny to me. I was trying to enjoy the one afternoon I was going to get to spend with him, lazily picnicking in the grove. But this damn branch and Jer’s damn carelessness were probably going to make that impossible.
An elm is a tree. When I was young and living in a small town out west, all of the Elms were decimated by Dutch Elm Disease. It was a very sad thing. Elms are a tree and we need them.
There was an elm tree deep in the forest that had been there for centuries. Everyone knew about it, and yet ignored it. The moss had grown up onto the roots that stuck out, and the birds had abandoned it long ago.
Christi
The stately old tree hung over the slowly spinning creek. It was an idyllic remnant of the man’s childhood. During his young years, he spent his time listlessly sitting under the tree bored; now, all he wanted to do was waste time under its precious, wisened branches.
ml
Elm trees all over the place, surrounding us like tall elders drooping their arms to hold our hands. Elm st. is quite the unusual place.
Ivan Mata
The elm tree was spruce coloured, and I visited it every day of my life. It made me happy to see the remaining tree, as it danced in the breeze. Everything was perfect. Until they chopped all of the trees down. Now this elm tree was the only one left. I missed the other trees, and running with my family through them. But now the trees were gone, and so was my family. I miss it, I miss it all.
Danny
The shade of the majestic tree was something that always stayed with Paul. He remembered all the times it had gotten the best of him, the kites it ate, the leaves it dropped forcing him to rake for hours. He also remembered the great fall days jumping in the massive piles of leaves with his late mother, only to be warmed up by a cup of her hot cocoa.
Steve
the slippery elm that was him member was soft and warm in her mouth, she loved to taste his sap as it seeped from him massive ltrunk.
T. F. Krag
the forest is ON FIRE and it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen, until it lights your eyes and like Penny Wise you scream, oh my friend don’t worry it’s not that im mean, it’s just that all is exactly as it seems. What a horrible thing. For thi
Inso
As trees go, I had heard the word but didn’t have the image in my head. A tree that rhymed with helm? Didn’t do it for me. So I made it a poplar. Harder to rhyme though.
Bill Wren
used by warriors
fernando
It’s not supposed to happen, but people do fall off buildings once in awhile. I saw it happen once, to a construction worker who was leaning out a window, yelling down to another construction worker standing down on the street below him. “Where did you–” were the last three words he said, then he swooshed out of the building and fell, slam into the cement sidewalk, about two feet away from the guy he was hollering down to. I don’t know that guy’s name, but he was screaming when it happened, yelling out the name of the man who fell. “Buzz, Buzz, what the fuck Buzz!!” He was on top of him in a second, putting his ear to the chest of Buzz, to the heart of Buzz, which you knew couldn’t be beating any more after what happened. It didn’t take long for about 40 people to show up, running over from all different directions as though they could help Buzz get up again, or maybe just to see what happened. Buzz looked flat in the face; there was blood on the sidewalk where he landed. He fell ten floors, it was I think. Right onto a street named after a tree. Elm. Yeah. I remember that like it just happened.
tree. shade, spreading branches. birds nesting and singing. reading a book while sitting leaning against the tree trunk. Big leaves falling to the ground. elm beatles. trying to escape.
The elm tree stood long and tall in the front yard. I looked up at its bare skinny branches. I remember being very young, and very small, thinking that the elm–at the time the plant was only about 4 years old–was the tallest thing since seeing my parents. I remember how limited my perception was. I remembering thinking that the whole world was bigger and taller and faster and better than me. As I grew the tree stayed in the front yard, stretching with every year. I watched the seasons whip through it’s branches like a blustery wind. Delicate buds dropping into bright green blades, and crackly fall leaves the colors of Thanksgiving falling to expose the branches. I grew older too, as the elm tree did, and my world view shifted, like an ocean tide. The tree was still tall, and I was taller too, though still much shorter than it. And the world was still bigger, and taller, faster, and better than me.
An elm branch fell and whacked me in the face, and then Jeremy laughed at me. It wasn’t funny to me. I was trying to enjoy the one afternoon I was going to get to spend with him, lazily picnicking in the grove. But this damn branch and Jer’s damn carelessness were probably going to make that impossible.
An elm is a tree. When I was young and living in a small town out west, all of the Elms were decimated by Dutch Elm Disease. It was a very sad thing. Elms are a tree and we need them.
There was an elm tree deep in the forest that had been there for centuries. Everyone knew about it, and yet ignored it. The moss had grown up onto the roots that stuck out, and the birds had abandoned it long ago.
The stately old tree hung over the slowly spinning creek. It was an idyllic remnant of the man’s childhood. During his young years, he spent his time listlessly sitting under the tree bored; now, all he wanted to do was waste time under its precious, wisened branches.
Elm trees all over the place, surrounding us like tall elders drooping their arms to hold our hands. Elm st. is quite the unusual place.
The elm tree was spruce coloured, and I visited it every day of my life. It made me happy to see the remaining tree, as it danced in the breeze. Everything was perfect. Until they chopped all of the trees down. Now this elm tree was the only one left. I missed the other trees, and running with my family through them. But now the trees were gone, and so was my family. I miss it, I miss it all.
The shade of the majestic tree was something that always stayed with Paul. He remembered all the times it had gotten the best of him, the kites it ate, the leaves it dropped forcing him to rake for hours. He also remembered the great fall days jumping in the massive piles of leaves with his late mother, only to be warmed up by a cup of her hot cocoa.
the slippery elm that was him member was soft and warm in her mouth, she loved to taste his sap as it seeped from him massive ltrunk.
the forest is ON FIRE and it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen, until it lights your eyes and like Penny Wise you scream, oh my friend don’t worry it’s not that im mean, it’s just that all is exactly as it seems. What a horrible thing. For thi
As trees go, I had heard the word but didn’t have the image in my head. A tree that rhymed with helm? Didn’t do it for me. So I made it a poplar. Harder to rhyme though.
used by warriors
It’s not supposed to happen, but people do fall off buildings once in awhile. I saw it happen once, to a construction worker who was leaning out a window, yelling down to another construction worker standing down on the street below him. “Where did you–” were the last three words he said, then he swooshed out of the building and fell, slam into the cement sidewalk, about two feet away from the guy he was hollering down to. I don’t know that guy’s name, but he was screaming when it happened, yelling out the name of the man who fell. “Buzz, Buzz, what the fuck Buzz!!” He was on top of him in a second, putting his ear to the chest of Buzz, to the heart of Buzz, which you knew couldn’t be beating any more after what happened. It didn’t take long for about 40 people to show up, running over from all different directions as though they could help Buzz get up again, or maybe just to see what happened. Buzz looked flat in the face; there was blood on the sidewalk where he landed. He fell ten floors, it was I think. Right onto a street named after a tree. Elm. Yeah. I remember that like it just happened.