Risultati di "Ryan J. Southworth" in Tutte le categorie

The Great Wilderness was very much like your home. Well, perhaps not so very much. Unless your hometown is covered with such woods that a squirrel could run for days without ever touching the ground; unless you might discover that some animals in your back yard are not truly animals at all; unless you can listen for a month without hearing the slightest noise from a car engine or jet plane, then perhaps your home is not so very much like the Great Wilderness.

Ceylon was a child, very much like yourself. Well, perhaps not so very much. Unless you are orphaned and homeless and often alone; unless you’ve wandered from jungle to forest and joined up with a traveling merchant caravan; unless you stand no taller than my kneecap and have skin that smells like the bark of a cinnamon tree, you are not so very much like Ceylon. He was a treeborn, and if you saw him you would think, “My, isn’t he a gangly little fellow! All arms and legs like branches on a tree. But oh! He does smell lovely, doesn’t he? Like Christmas.

Mapaline was a child, very much like yourself. Well, perhaps not so very much. Unless you live in a deep, vast wilderness of forests and rivers and streams; unless you sleep in a small room, hung high up in the limbs of an old maple tree; unless you stand no taller than my kneecap and have hair that changes with the seasons, you are not so very much like Mapaline. She was a treeborn, and if you saw her you would think, “Isn’t she a pretty little girl. But . . . somehow—”and you would feel silly saying it—”somehow she makes me think of a tree. Not very much, but still . . .”