Writing with Stardust: The Ultimate Descriptive Guide for students, parents, teachers and writers (12 page)

                                
SPRING

                                                      
COLOUR

LEVEL 1         LEVEL 2         LEVEL 3         LEVEL 4         LEVEL 5          OTHERS

1. The pea-green fields were a
potion
for the soul.

2. The grape-green fields were a
balm
for the soul.

3. The mint-green fields were a gentle
salve
for the soul.

4. The sight of fairytale-green fields was like
manna
for my soul.

5. The sweeping vista of paradise-green was like a
lullaby
for my soul.

                                                          
SOUND

1. Bleating lambs were playing on the
ripe
grass.

2. Crooning pigeons plucked for seeds on the
juicy
grass.

3. Whinnying foals frolicked and frisked on the
lush
grass.

4. Spluttering lawnmowers whittled and sheared the
plush
grass.

5. The throbbing heart of nature beat rhythmically under the
succulent
grass.

                                            
SIMILES FOR THE MOON                       

1. The spring moon
hung
in the sky like a shimmering disc of silver.

2. The moon
hovered
in the sky like a gleaming globe of gold.

3. The moon
lingered
in the sky like a glowing orb of gold.

4. The moon
loitered
in the night sky like a shiny salver of silver.

5. The moon
languished
in the night sky. It seemed as freshly-minted as a silver coin.

                                      THE MOVEMENT OF SCENTS

1. The
pure
, spring smells carried to me.

2. The
sparkling
, spring scents drifted towards me.

3. The
chaste
, spring aromas glided to my nose.

4. The
sanitizing
, spring fragrances percolated around the glade.

5. The
salubrious
, spring perfumes drafted and swirled from the flowers.

                                                   
SPRING FLOWERS

1. The buttercups
grew
on the green grass.

2. The dandelions
sprung up
from the verdant grass.

3. The peonies
sprouted
from the verdure of the grass.

4. The primroses
burst forth
from the virescent grass.

5. Bluebells
exploded
from the verdurous robe of the grove.

                                       
METAPHORS FOR THIN LIGHT

1.
Thin
strings of light came from the sky.

2.
Slim
shafts of light came from the sky.

3. Arrows of
lean
light filled the sky.

4.
Slender
ribbons of light swooped down from the firmament of the sky.

5.
Tapered
lances of light descended from the empyrean vault above.

                                                 
OTHER IMAGES    

1. Splay-legged lambs played under the
shiny frame
of sky.

2. Open-beaked chicks twittered under the
silk canvas
of sky.

3. Star-blazed foals pranced under the
satin ceiling
of sky.

4.  Turtle-slow lawnmowers snipped grass under the
glossy screen
of sky.

5. Turbo-winged blackbirds whirred under the
velvety easel
of sky.

                                                  
SENSATION

1. The winds were cool and pleasant.

2. The spring winds were soothing to the touch.

3. The vernal winds were caressing my face and ruffling my hair.

                                                          
SMELL

1. The baked apple smell of the meadow was pleasant.

2. The meadow had a candied aroma. It smelt like fragrant caramel.

3. The tutti-frutti scent of the meadows and vales was overpowering.

                                                           
TASTE

1. The wild thyme we picked was floral to the taste.

2. The ramsons we plucked were petal sweet to the taste.

3. The chanterelles we picked were meringue sweet.

                                       LEVEL 1: BASIC SENTENCES

1. The fields were
parsley-green
.
COLOUR

2. Lonely calves were
lowing
in the fields.
SOUND

3. The moon was
like a ghostly-silver disc
in the sky.
SIMILES FOR THE MOON

4. A carnival of
scents
blew
in the air.
THE MOVEMENT OF SCENTS

5. A
host of daisies
scattered the meadow.
SPRING FLOWERS

6.
Strands of thin light
came from the sky.
METAPHORS FOR LIGHT

7. The
milk-splashed calves
brayed for company.
OTHER IMAGES

8. The scene was
spirit-lifting
.
SENSATION

9. There was a
cream fresh
smell.
SMELL

10. The spring foods had a
candy floss sweet
taste.
TASTE

                                      
LEVEL 2: A BASIC PARAGRAPH

The fields were
glade-green
. The sound of
chirping
chicks
filled the air. The moon was
like a phantom-silver orb
. A pageant of
smells floated
in the spring air and a horde of
dandelions
littered the meadow.
Staffs of slim light
spilled from the sky.
Proud-breasted pigeons
strutted across the meadow. The scene was
spirit-refreshing
and pastoral. The meadow smelled
pear fresh
. There was a
blossom
sweet
taste to the food we ate.

                                       
LEVEL 3: CREATIVE PARAGRAPHS

The
malachite-green
fields seemed to be covered in a bright sheen under the dawn moon. We could hear
yipping fox cubs
breaking the quiet of the world. Clouds shaped like tufty pillows glided slowly across the sky. They carried an airy, warm, drizzling rain with them. It cleansed the land and banished the strangling coldness and stunned silence of winter. Plinking and pattering off the leaves, then fading into memory, the rain energized the flora. It left behind a world baptized and rebirthed by its liquid grace. Song thrushes trilled as the
spectre-silver
moon
began to wane and the fog of flowers in the meadow slowly revealed itself. We could smell their
aromas hovering
in the air.

Versace-purple
crocuses
seemed to glow before our eyes. Jewel-green grasshoppers bounced atop the grass like leggy trampolines. In the stony verges, Rafael-red valerian sprouted from between coral-black cracks.
Spears of dawn light
suddenly drenched the farthest corners with their golden magic. A pair of
misty-eyed cubs
yelped as they saw us and darted to safety. A murmuration of starlings wheeled and banked overhead like wind-tossed gunpowder. The rustic scene was
spirit-renewing
and we let the menu of
melon fresh scents
wash over us. We ate our hamper of food under the leafy umbrella of a great oak and it tasted
molasses sweet
.

                                      
LEVEL 4: ADVANCED PARAGRAPHS

The dawn chorus is the herald of spring. It starts with a lonely, serenading minstrel, usually a blackbird. He is clear and melodious, as fresh and sweet as the gardens he will later raid. In the neighbouring tree, his future ex-wife trumpets a fluty duet. Her saucy fanfare dares others to match their salsa song of the canopy. The competition rouses from their slumber, opening their beaks to the heavens. The avian aria slowly becomes a fugue, bouncing through bough and bower. The lilting majesty of their song cascades into open spaces, through glassy windows, and onto the smiling lips of the dreamers within. Spring is here.

What are the triggers for the comforting cannon of tree music? Is it the lace of morning fog slowly receding as the months roll by?  Is it the gently unfurling flowers, velour soft and receptive to warmth? Is it the baked oven smell of grass as the sun purges it of water? It is this and more. It is the world moving from iron-grey to fairyland –green. It is the spools of lambs’ wool hanging from straggly bushes, a wedding card to the nesters. It is the mist of smells, the frill of flowers and the scent of magic in the air. Shoals of honeysuckle, primroses and bluebells sway and weave a rich mosaic in the meadows. Harp strings of golden light touch steaming shadows and soften the frozen earth for the wildflowers. Turtle-slow lawnmowers pedicure the grass, while leaving their clippings behind for the fussy nesters. Gnarled hands with snipping shears scalp the hedges. The world is young, lush and bountiful again. It is a spirit-enriching, pastoral scene. Under the wraith-silver moon, an alchemy of balsamic scents swirl around the meadow. Human foods become peach sweet to the taste after the scavenging fangs of winter turned them tasteless.

What of the dreamers? The same, easy smile plays on their lips. They are listening to the theatre of the trees while they sleep. To them, it is a song woven from lilting lullaby and brazen beak. They do not know that it is an ode older than the span of man’s dreams. They may never see the beauty of the brood-mance of the bower. Neither the finest pane of daylight nor the most cunning tint of moonlight shall match the opus of the dawn chorus. Spring is here.

                
LEVEL 5: COMPLEX WRITING: SPRINKLING STARDUST

Spring is glee. It’s a fizzy tonic, like a slowly overflowing bottle of bubbling joy. It tattoos its colours onto the land, banishing the clay-cold claws of winter. The blessed dew is bespangled on the frosty ground. Like wizard dust, it burns the snow into oblivion. Buds blossom, trees thaw and grass grows. Spring cauterizes, with a surgical precision, the gaping wounds winter leaves on the land. When it’s finished, it infuses its own mojo into the endless opera of the seasons.

One fine morning, the world wakes up to a rapture-blue sky. It is high and bright, a continuum of delight that salves both spirit and soul. The grass becomes wonderland-green as if some magical jujitsu chop has banished the frost overnight. Squillions of glint-silver dewdrops are sprinkled in the meadow like stardust. They are shimmering Eden pills that signal to the grass it’s time to revive. Like slinky escapologists, the seeds below slip through the iron shackles of the earth. Finally, flowers begin to wave at the ecstasy-blue sky again. Within days, cherry blossoms are manicured with bliss-pink petals.

Splay-legged lambs, acolyte-white in colour, wobble on their knobbly joints before going a-gambol in the fields. Waves of coruscating light immerse the meadows in sheets of golden flame. Bluebells and daffodils add to the stained-glass perfection of the forest’s colours. Tufty thickets burst forth as everything is a-tangle in the branches for birdy kiss-and-tells. Little feathers mysteriously appear under conker-brown trees.

Spring is here. It is the time of the ‘lings; nestlings, seedlings and ding-a-lings. In finely woven nests, tiny hearts tap with joy. Under the ground, shoots shaped like tadpoles replace crusty bulbs. The first bike-racers appear, zinging down country lanes, terrorizing baby hedgehogs. Overhead, an exodus of banished birds appears as if out of a Celtic fairytale. Honking geese and whooping swans are joined by the sinister cuckoo. To-whom-do-you-brood-with is his sorrowful call and the answer will doom some of the nestlings.