My name is Ella, my game is... writing! I love to write about nature, and I always aim to create a real mood in my writing, whether it be that warm fuzzy feeling, or a tense, and foreboding one :)
If you are ever reading one of my pieces and don't understand, or just want to provide some advice, feel free to comment. I am always looking for ways to improve and create more emotion in my writing.
Written By: Ella Hambleton
May 19, 2015
SIGHT: Through the dirt mottled glass of my window the misty sky seems to extend beyond the horizon, creating a white backdrop for a forest of still gum trees. Their grey bark is dappled with beige spots and dark brown scars, and their dew-covered leaves are fresh and green after summer rain. Houses are scattered throughout the bushland, their colourless rooves sparse at first, before clumping to become a suburban jumble. From my house on a hill, I can see the rolling blue-green mountains, blanketed with gum trees, and spotted with wisps of white cloud. The two fig trees that i planted many summers ago have light green growth on their small branches. In the foreground there grows lilac flowers on long stalks, extending from long leafed, low growing bushes. The pinky red of fading bottlebrush adds a hint of colour to the otherwise muted landscape. The only moving thing is a single white cockatoo, waddling its way through tall grass. Its yellow crest brightly drowns the pinky red of the bottlebrush, and its white feathers look smooth, like a soft white sheet on a featherbed.
SOUND: Beneath the sill of my window, the clucks and scratches of chickens dominate my hearing. Cicadas and crickets create a faint, but constant background to the raucous laugh of a pair of kookaburras. Slowly, the twittering of lorikeets reaches my ears, like a beautiful high pitched whistle, and joins the insects that seem to always make themselves faintly heard. A crow, soaring overhead, caws its screeching caw. A fly buzzes near my ear. The click of my fingers on the keyboard as I type. I hear the distant whoosh of a car driving along the wet road, its engine a rumbling, revving mass. A dog barks in a distant street. There is a tinkling of glass as a party clean-up occurs, and bottles are tipped into a plastic bin. Noisy miners whine in my ears. The flapping of wings. The crack of a branch. My clock ticks behind me. My fan whirrs above me. My ducks squeak and quack quietly below my window. A whistling bird call echoes across the valley.
FEEL: A soft breeze touches my arms, whipped into existence by my fan. My elbows are hard against my desk as I type. The fresh air swirls around me. The cool humidity of recent rain pleasantly blankets my world. The soft touch of clean carpet on my bare feet pulls into the inside world, while the soft spray of rain through the screen beckons me out.
Written from my room, sitting at my desk, looking through my window. My room is beside the chicken pen, but i couldn't see it as i was sitting down.