By Swetha Amit
I step into the misty woods, watching the sunlight seep through the trees. Goosebumps prick my skin as the wind blows and ruffles my ragged clothes. I walk along the muddy pathway and stumble upon a quail’s nest. Warm and cozy, little chicks are feeding off their mother’s beak. Droplets of dew trickle from the leaves. As I watch the sky turn orange, a rush of fear pulsates in my veins. I look at the tiny home of twigs in front of me. It reminds me of my old home wiped out by the hues of orange and fumes of smoke.
great descriptions and a message
Beautifully poetic if sad at the end.
This is very good descriptive work.