Written in the Style of Wright
It is late November in the southern New England region, the seasons blending from fall into winter. Focused in on Rhode Island, there is still a warm feeling to the wind due to the bay a short drive to the east. Hints of winter began to peak through earlier in November with a small snow storm covering the woods in a blanket of white. The pond on my site froze over, covered in a layer of ice that one could walk across. A strong white oak, my central tree, stands tall next to the pond, with a large branch about ten feet up hanging over the pond that used to be climbed by many children including myself about a decade ago. New England has a weird way about it, with no distinct pattern to its weather, winter coming at different times every year. Autumn has come and gone, with all of the leaves of the tall oak trees in the area covering the soil in a tick blanket of various shades of brown. Vivacious leaf colors long ago left Rhode Island quickly replaced by browns and beiges. With the weather warming and rain falling several days recently, the pond is no longer covered in a layer of ice. Rather, it is overflowing with water, draining through a small stream cleared about a decade ago by my friends and me on an autumn day when we were bored. Since then, water has constantly flowed from this point when the level in the pond grows too high. Water slowly pulled at the dirt, allowing the stream to grow and flow down to the drainage ditch before the neighborhood road. Weeds and thorns long ago overtook the path to the pond due to lack of use by the children in the neighborhood. Without the constant footfalls keeping the plants at bay, the thorns make accessing this pond nearly impossible.
Written in the style of Leopold
Centennial Woods is completely removed from society, an oasis in the middle of a busy city. If you travel deep enough into the woods, all of the sounds of the city, the car engines, the horns, the people, they all disappear. In their places are the babbling of Centennial Brook, the chirping of the chickadees, and the whistling of the wind through the trees. Westmoreland Farms does not provide these seclusions from the sounds of the suburbs. The pond across my house are far smaller than Centennial Woods, so the sounds of the woods are mixed with the sounds of society. Car horns can be heard from the highway a mile and a half down the road. Neighborhood sounds such as children laughing, dogs barking, cars driving, and bike bells ringing can all still be heard and seen through the thin wall of trees. But the woods are still able to compete with these sounds on a windy day. The trees creak against each other and the wind whistles as it is forced to change course around the tangle of branches in the overstory. If the pond is full, the steady stream of water flowing downhill from the overflow can be heard almost as clearly as Centennial Brook. The sound of a small flock of chickadees can also be heard in the trees. The biggest difference between these two places is the sound of flailing animals caught in the thorns near the pond. These sounds often come followed by a small cry as the animals struggle to free themselves from the tangles. These sounds are not often heard in Centennial Woods because the weather is too cold for the thorns to survive. Both places still have the sounds of nature embedded into them.
Pictures from my site back home: