A Hunt in the Woods

Submitted by j. Glen pollard on Thu, 07/11/2013 - 01:23

I usually go hunting in the woods. I run through the white-picket fence that is in my backyard. I have my pure wooden bow in my right hand. It is made I out of red oak tree.
I wear black rubber boots just in case there is a thunderstorm and black and brown colors for camouflage. Birds chirp and salmon jump in and out of the clear, blue water, trying to swim upstream. I finally spot a red squirrel, but it quickly runs up a tree. I grunt, throw the bow over my shoulder, and start climbing the huge tree.
After I climb up the tree, I start looking for the squirrel. I sigh in despair. A red squirrels’ coat is so good at camouflage in the autumn that I sometimes wish that my skin could be so red; it would save much time. I balance on the branch of the tree. I walked steadily, not wanting to look down at the orange and yellow leafed floor. I cross the trunk and start exploring the whole tree. I keep climbing the tree till I see a squirrel’s drey.
It is made out of scrawny pieces of twigs, red, orange and yellow leaves and worn out bottles. In it are small, spoiled peanuts and big pieces of fat walnuts. I also see some nasty pieces of squirrel dung. I put some in my pocket. I wait for a few hours, and I finally see the squirrel. I put the squirrel dung in my pocket so the squirrel cannot smell me. The squirrel comes back in about half an hour. I pull the arrow back by the barb, and shoot the squirrel in a few seconds. I walk home with a huge smile and go once again through the white-picket fence.

Author's age when written

I had to do a descriptive essay in March 2012 (I think).


Anyways, I will excuse you this time since you wrote this last year, but this is in great, great need of sentence structure. But I haven't seen problems like this in your latest writing, so don't worry. :)

"It is not the length of life, but the depth of life." Ralph Waldo Emerson