Post by zoe on Feb 22, 2011 15:37:14 GMT -5
Phoebe liked forests. Mostly because it felt like the trees were skyscrapers in busy city or just tall people towering over her. As she moved apart the branches and leaves through the undergrowth it made her feel like she was walking through a large crowd of people. It was one of the only places she felt safe in the countryside.
Being with people all the time is all well and good, but when you have to study, it's hard to concentrate when there's people taking and running around you. The gazebo was a place where she could get some peace, and sit but not get muddy in the process. If only I could find it...I know it's around here somewhere... Phy was wearing her little red wellies and a floral summer dress with thick, woolly, cream tights and a couple of blue bangles round her wrist. She kept looking down to her tights at the small mud smear by her left knee, trying to convince her self that no, she won't die, and she can carry on going until she sits down at the gazebo to clean it off then.
Phy decided to stop looking at the ground panicking about the mud, and to look up and enjoy the scenery. There was a soft light trickling through the canopy of leaves, varying in colour from red to and earthy green. It cast a light on the leafy floor like a stain glass window, highlighting the small flowers bursting from the floor. As with every classic fairytale scene, small forest animals skipped around the giant trunks getting along with their business, too happy and peaceful to even notice Phy waking through. A strike of jealousy shot through Phoebe, feeling envious over the way they could just live so blissfully and simply out here.
As Phoebe soon came to realise, she had been walking slightly off course. To her right, through the trees, she recognised the beautiful outline of the woodland gazebo. It was old, and white, with flowers and vines climbing it's surface. She took an sharp breath in as she admired the stunning view, then carried on with a skip in her step to it's entrance.
The weathered floor boards creaked under her weight as she made her way across. She sat down on the single seat in the corner, next to the double swing seat, scrubbed the mud off her knee, got out her books and started to write notes on various subjects.
It was mainly English she had to work on, she was supposed to be writing an essay on two of Shakespeare's many poems. She'd never been good at analysing poems, too many hidden meanings, and she could never remember all the names for all the different techniques. Like, plosive words, for example. She could never remember if they were words with an "S" sound, like a snake, which meant something evil or sinister, or if it was for words that started with "p", "b" and letters like that, where they were used for emphasis or something when used in alliteration. Who comes up with all these fancy words anyway? She'd just have to struggle. She'd written a few notes already around the poem already, just need a few more and she'd be ready to write the essay.
