Have you ever found yourself bored while waiting somewhere and wishing you had something productive to do? Well, here's a fun little trick I've discovered that's perfect for improving your English skills without needing anything more than what's right in front of you. Let's dive into how I stumbled upon this technique one afternoon...
It all began a few days ago...
I was waiting for my sister in a neighbouring town, with absolutely nothing to do. I didn't want to use my phone as the only entertaining, what meant to find something else to do. I understand that we all get used to occupy ourselves by social media scrolling or watching YouTube videos. But there was something special in that deliberate disconnection to the modern technology. I saw in this old-fashioned condition a unique, forgotten opportunity of using the tool we all are born with. I started searching for something that can catch my attention and there it was, a beautiful maple tree. I thought then, why not start describing it in English?
As Bilbo Baggins said: "It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to". That's true, little did I know where my imagination would take me next...
I saw the entire secret world of twilight, where the phantastic but more humane creatures live. One step on the phantasy path and I'm on a hill, the greatest maple tree of my town grows here. I look up at the remaining leaves, they're a vibrant mix of scarlet red and deep orange, with some streaks of yellow. The branches are thick and sturdy, reaching out in a somewhat irregular but powerful pattern. I bend down and walk under the heavy spreading branches, they are very thick and low to the ground. Now I see the trunk, its bark is rough and deeply furrowed, with prominent ridges running vertically.
From the below the crown is broad and rounded though not perfectly symmetrical. It spreads outwards, casting a generous shadow. Even with many leaves fallen, it still holds a significant presence. Estimated height is tricky, but it's definitely a mature tree. I'm walking around the trunk, trying to estimate its girth. I don't have a tape measure but my guess is that the trunk reaches one and a half meters in diameter.
Considering all these factors I do the conclusion, the age of this tree is somewhere between 80 and 150 years, I can't say for sure, though.
My imagination gains momentum and makes me look up, where I notice the feature I missed before, a hollow about three meters above the ground. I wonder if it's possible that some old owl lives there? I don't know how long the owls can live but imagine that the Earth's oldest owl lives in that hollow. I gaze up at that hollow, trying to notice something which would indicate that my theory is liveable. I find it, the rough bark around that hollow is worn smooth in places, as if by generations of creatures entering and exciting.
I'm standing there and feel a sense of awe. The idea of the ancient owl, sharing his life with this ancient tree adds a layer of magic and deep history to the landscape. I hear the name of that owl, the name that is brought to me by the wind of my imagination. His name is Silas. I imagine him to be a creature of immense patience and stillness. He observes the world with a quiet, knowing gaze from his hollow. But this maple isn't just a roost for Silas, it's his sanctuary, his world. He's witnessed the tree bud, bloom, shed its leaves and endure harsh winters, all from his vantage point within its ancient embrace. He is as much a part of the tree as its bark or branches.
The sun dips lower, painting the sky in hues of orange, purple and a deep fading blue. The crisp autumn air grows cooler and shadows begin to lengthen, stretching along the hillside like long dark fingers. I take a final glance back at the magnificent maple, its silhouette becoming stark against the darkening heavens.
I turn to descend the hill, but suddenly I stop. I pause on the path, my breathe catching in my throat. The darkness isn't empty, it's a deceptive silence.
From the dark, moss-lined hollow, a shadow stirs. Not a hurried movement, but a slow, deliberate unfolding. Silas' great amber eyes, accustomed to the dim light, flicker open, reflecting the last vestiges of twilight. He stretches his magnificent wings and with a barely perceptible push he launches himself from his ancient sanctuary. He emerges from the tree's embrace, a dark, silent hunter becoming one with the night.
On my way home I remember my departed cat, who in his thirteenth became a philosophical creature. He cut out hunting and preferred observing other living creatures from the different point of view, not as a hunter, not as a killer. He loved watching sparrows or tits, scurrying next to him. I, captured by this thought of his gentleness, his ability to see the world beyond the immediate, wonder if Silas, this ancient owl, might share this evolved perspective. Maybe the thrill of the chase was replaced by the quiet observation of life's intricate dance.
I hope that decades of watching the same cycles, observing countless generations of prey, might lead to a different understanding. He might see the mice not just as sustenance, but as individual lives, each with their own brief, vibrant existence. Such a wise creature should have an equal friend to spend time with. My imagination solves this problem immediately.
There, near the maple tree, down the hill, lies a graveyard and there, amidst the resting places of the departed, sits a vampire. His name is Marius. Two hundred years old, he carries an aura of quiet contemplation, his existence a testament to endurance and perhaps a deep weariness. He's not a creature of frenzied bloodlust, but a thoughtful being who has had centuries to ponder his own existence and the world around him.
Silas and Marius met each other a long time ago. They became the good, reliable friends. Every night Silas flies to the cemetery, to spend some time with his old friend. This night they are on the graveyard, as well. Silas and Marius perched on the edge of the sturdy tombstone, they are deep in conversation.
Marius: "Silas, my old friend, we have spoken of many things under the moon, but this night the thoughts of people trouble me. This 'sport fishing' they are engaged in ... it chills me more than the deepest winter."
Silas: "You mean the unnecessary causing of injuries to the poor fish, don't you?"
Marius: "Exactly. We, Silas, we who sustain ourselves on the blood of others - it's a necessity. We kill to live, it's the law of our existence, brutal, but it is survival. Yet, this humans... They take a life not for sustenance, but for what? For 'Sport'? To test their skill? To feel a fleeting thrill?"
He gestures with a pale hand towards the unseen town. "They hook a creature of the deep, tear its mouth with metal and then they simply discard it. They watch it writhe, gasp for air and die a slow, agonizing death. Isn't this more Evil than the swift act of a hunter, who kills to survive? We take a life to continue our own. They take a life for amusement."
Both of them turn heads toward the town, covered with a thick layer of crisp autumn air, painted black by the night. Only the rustle of leaves, the distant bark of dogs and the faint chirp of a cricket break the silence...
Well, here's a conclusion about this method of learning and improving our target language. You can see real power in transforming boring moments into opportunities for growth. Besides improving side you also develop your imagination, the most usefull tool of our brain. Plus, you can dive yourself into profound philosophical dilemmas and then discuss them with your friends. So, next time you're stuck waiting anywhere, give this method a shot! Who knows what incredible tales await discovery just beyond the surface of familiar surroundings?