Week 4 Writing Homework
Prompt :
Write a 500-word narrative piece titled “Through the Eyes of the Ancient Oak” that demonstrates your mastery of perspective and voice.
Choose ONE of these prompts:
- The ancient oak witnesses a significant historical event
- The oak observes multiple generations of a single family
- The oak faces a threat to its existence (fire, development, disease)
- The oak communicates with a human who can understand it
Please upload your homework as a comment below:
- Due Date : May 31, 2025
- Feedback will be shared in 3-5 days
33 thoughts on “Week 4 Writing Homework”
Here is my writing
Scholarly Writing W4
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Tricia Yi – WEEK 4 (1)
I have been standing in this field for a very long time. My roots go deep into the soil. My branches stretch wide into the sky. I have seen many things. I have felt the warmth of the sun, the cold of snow, and the soft patter of rain. Birds have built nests in my arms. Squirrels have raced up my trunk. But my favourite thing is watching the people.
Many years ago, a little girl came running up the hill. Her name was Elsie. She wore a red dress and had yellow hair. She touched my bark with her small hands and smiled. I felt her joy like sunshine on my leaves. She would sit at my roots and read books. Sometimes, she tied a rope to one of my branches and made a swing. Her laughter filled the air as she swung back and forth.
Elsie came almost every day. She told me her secrets. She talked about school, her dreams, and her family. One day, she came crying. Her tears dripped onto my bark. Her mother was sick. I wanted to comfort her, but I cannot move. So, I stood still and let her rest against me. That day, I held her sadness in my heartwood.
Seasons changed. Leaves grew and fell. The snow came and melted again. Elsie grew up. One day, she stopped visiting. I waited. Many years passed. Then, one spring morning, I saw a boy walking toward me. He had the same bright eyes. I knew at once—he was her grandson. His name was Jamie.
Jamie ran around my trunk, just like Elsie. He found the old swing, now worn and quiet. He fixed it and swung high in the air. I creaked and swayed but stayed strong. He carved his name into my bark, right below the letters “E + M” that Elsie had written long ago. I remembered it all.
As Jamie grew, he came to me less often. But one summer, he brought someone special, his daughter. She was tiny and full of giggles. She danced in my shade and picked flowers near my roots. She didn’t speak much, but she hugged me. Her small arms could not reach all the way around, but I felt her love in every touch.
Now, I wait again. I know the family will return. They always do. I remember all their faces, all their voices, all their footsteps on the grass. I may not speak, but I keep their memories in my rings. Each year adds a new layer, a new story.
I am the ancient oak. I do not move. I do not forget. I have watched this family grow for many years. And if the wind is quiet, and you press your ear to my trunk, maybe, just maybe, you’ll hear their stories too.
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Varoon – WEEK 4
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through the eyes of the ancient oak (1)
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Anastasia Peng – WEEK 4
I swayed gently in the breeze, dreaming about all the possibilities that could happen today. I heard a sharp, high pitched squeaking noise near one of my roots. It scurried up my branches with surprising agility, it’s little claws digging into my flesh. I felt the sharp tang of its ascent marking grooves in my bark, adding to the collection of them that had accumulated over the years, underneath the paws of the animals. It was a squirrel, laying one of my branches; a good one for sleeping. It was cozy and not too far off the ground, but far enough to be out of reach of predators. I smiled. This little animal joined the zoo of creatures that called me home; insects, squirrels, possums and more. I have been alive for longer than anyone can count. I’ve seen these animals come and go, reproduce, I’ve seen the whole cycle. But suddenly, a sharp arc of agony shook me. It wasn’t like the squirrel, a little bit of pain, but a strike that shook me down to my roots. Looking up, I saw a human, axe in hand. The razor sharp edge gleamed malevolently, in the sunlight, as if laughing at my fate. I cried out in pain, screaming in a language that no human could understand. Animals quickly fled, seeming to sense the danger before it came. The man barely glanced at the creatures. He was focused. Focused on me.
My branches were slowly severed away from me, seeping bloody red sap. It was unbearable, the pain of it all and the thought of the end of my life. But as he prepared to deliver the final blow to my trunk, his assistant protested, saying that this was more than enough wood. He paused, lowered his axe, and peered at the stack of wood. It felt like the world was holding it’s breath, until he nodded. I was relieved. I was forever grateful to that assistant: I know that he was saving me. Why, I do not know. It will forever remain a mystery. But slowly, I regained myself; my branches, my personality, my animals, and I was content. Sometimes, on quiet days, I hear my saviour call:
‘Oh mighty oak, mighty oak,
you will live on.
No axe, no man
will take your glory,
your spirit,
your life.’
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 – Aria
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Through the Eyes of the Ancient Oak
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 – Isabella Peng
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Through the Eyes of the Ancient Oak
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 – Yilin Tao
**Through the Eyes of the Ancient Oak**
I remember when the earth was soft, untouched by roads, unburdened by progress. I was only a sapling then, my roots delicate, my branches small and trembling in the breeze. Birds nested in my arms, deer rested in my shade, and the world whispered in ways only the patient could hear.
Time stretched, and I grew. I became a sentinel, watching the land shift beneath the weight of human ambition. The first settlers arrived, their footsteps hesitant, their
voices carried by the wind. They marveled at me, traced their fingers across my bark, and swore oaths beneath my branches. They built homes beyond my reach, their fires flickering against the night sky. This was new to me.
I watched a war unfold—men in uniforms, smoke choking the air, boots pounding the earth. They gathered beneath me to speak in hushed tones, etching their decisions into the air below me. Some never returned. Their absence echoed in the silence between my leaves. I will never forget them
Decades passed. Cities rose beyond the horizon, their lights dimming the stars. I listened to laughter, to arguments, to music drifting lazily from radios placed on picnic blankets beneath me. Children climbed my limbs, carving names into my bark. Lovers kissed beneath my shade, promising eternity.
But eternity is fickle.
One morning, machines arrived. The ground trembled with each metallic growl. Humans—once my caretakers, my storytellers—pointed to me, marking my fate with a single nod. The workers did not look at me as they approached, did not acknowledge the years I had stood like sentinals. To them, me and my fellow brothers was an obstacle in their natureless world.
The first cut sliced deep. Pain, though silent, radiated through me. My rings, rich with history and time, exposed to the indifferent light. I did not bleed, but I felt loss all the same. The birds scattered, the squirrels fled, and the earth sighed beneath me in the soil.
I fell.
The nature all around me began disappearing and I closed my eyes.
And for the first time in centuries, I did not witness the sun rise.
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 – rainie-jiangoutlook-com
The Rosemeres have watched over me for decades, year after year. I have witnessed tears, happiness, and quiet moments of joy as each generation came and went. I stand as the silent guardian of their land, feeling what they feel, because I am part of their family.
It all began in 1893, when our great-great-grandfather, Thomas Rosemere, planted me as a small boy. Every day, he would walk down to the valley to sit beside me. He told me stories, hoping his words would help me grow strong. He sang songs and ran around me, and I would gently sway my small branches in greeting, sharing secrets no one else could hear. As Thomas grew older and became a teenager, his visits grew fewer, until one day, he stopped coming altogether. I grew taller and stronger with each passing year, just as he grew into a kind, compassionate, and responsible man.
For many years, I waited in silence, until one day, a familiar scent filled the air. Thomas had returned – this time with his little daughter, Mabel. Like her father before her, Mabel came to visit me every day. She ran and laughed around my trunk, her footsteps light and joyful. When life felt heavy, she would sit beneath my branches, seeking comfort and peace. Mabel grew quickly, but even as she stepped into her early teens, she still found her way back to me during difficult times. Then, a little more than a decade later, her wedding was held beneath my very canopy. By that time, my roots had begun to feel the weight of many years. I smiled quietly at the small heart carved with the letters “M & C.” I heard their vows – a promise to love and stand by each other, just like the unspoken vow between the Rosemere family and me.
I have watched five generations pass through my shade, filling the air with love, laughter, and song. Though time will continue to flow, and my roots may one day grow weak and frail, the memories the Rosemere family and I have shared will live on – irreplaceable, and forever held in my heart.
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 -melodyc
Wind weaves around my leaves and my gnarled, mossy roots grip the dirt floor. A miniscule kid sits at my feet and paints a beautiful landscape on his canvas and admires it for a while before climbing my bark and swinging from a branch like a monkey. I tickle him with my branches and he laughs loudly and hugs me and leaves for his home.
The next day, he came looking for me looking down. He hugs me tightly and tells me about his horrible miserable day. I hug him with my branches and I encourage him to play around and he does. He runs around me and hangs from my branches and sits on the top of my head. Then, he fell off. Arms flailing helplessly. His high pitched screams filled the air. Then a dreaded thud made my blood run cold. As I peered down, I saw the boy laying there lifeless after falling approximately 24 metres off the ground. Days passed but no one found the boy. I was beginning to get worried because I couldn’t do anything to help and I was scared that the boy wouldn’t make it. Finally some people wearing navy blue and badges who looked important came rushing over and picked him up and carried him away.
Many winters have passed and many snowflakes have fallen on me. The sun has beaten me with its UV rays and many kids have sat at my feet at the exact spot the little boy has sat but unlike the little boy, none of them came back to visit. I didn’t mind because the only thing I cared about was the boy’s return.
Finally the little boy came back covered with bandages and stitches and he grimaced as he sat down and sighed. Then his mother came dashing through the woods and dragged him back home. Ever since, the boy’s visits turned from everyday, regular visits to every month, making my days lonely and quiet. I would always look forward to the boy’s visits, welcoming him with pink blossoms and my best leaves. One day some strange men came and inspected me. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my trunk and as I turned around, to my horror, they were hacking and smacking at my trunk and I swayed violently and on the 9th swing, I fell down. Then my brothers and sisters experienced the same thing. My siblings were crying for their survival but I was crying for the little boy. What was he going to do without me? I couldn’t imagine the sight of it. When I started to close my eyes and accept fate I heard the pained voice of the boy I cared for. He ran towards me but got pushed away then he watched me get wheeled away with tears in his eyes. Then the last thing I saw was him sitting at the place I had once stood and sobbing uncontrollably.
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 -Qiaoqiao
done
Felix SUN Week 4 Schoarship Writing
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 -zhuyingdorahotmail-com
The sun was shining brightly in the sky as birds landed on me from their flight back home. Hot summer days arrived, and I shade the animals as usual. I stand here like I was before centuries ago, in the same forest. Not much has changed throughout my lifetime. As I wait there with no intention, I hear something stepping on the ground, coming towards me.
I looked at the beings puzzled why they were here and what they were. They didn’t have any leaves or fur on them. It looked like they had little roots growing the other way; it went up and curly. They were putting on a curved object on their roots and took off the black bark on their trunk, revealing colourful bark underneath. I think they wanted to fit in so tried to talk to them. They ignored me as if I wasn’t there.
I carefully observed the beings, looking at their movements. One little flick created a little ball of orange light. Each second, the light got bigger and bigger. I suddenly thought of what my ancestors said, and I knew what it was. I was dreading this to happen. Fire. It killed all my ancestors, and I was lucky that I survived through it. Why would the beings do this to us? Are they enemies?
I hopelessly watched the fire burn all the weaker plants. Soon all the plants would be wiped out into ash, leaving me alone. I lost my ancestors before and now my brothers, the little birds suffocated from the fire. Not only there was fire outside but inside my trunk too.
I was disappointed in their actions and wanted to argue with them. I knew I couldn’t communicate to them. I felt hopeless and waited with anger. I knew I have experienced this before but not with these beings. Now all there’s left is me. I stand in the ash as the beings started to pack up and live.
After standing in the ash for long hours, I saw a little sapling sprout. Then slowly more sprouted, the flowers started blooming and it was a green area once again. It continued to grow more vibrant, with more colours and soon the butterflies were back, and the birds chirped again.
I smiled with laughter as I realised, they did the fire for change. The long sad wait was worth it, and they place was greener than ever. Now the area continues to thrive, and I will respect the beings if they come again.
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 – Alessia Li
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Through the Eyes of the Ancient Oak
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 – b34fdream
As the morning sun erupted out of the clouds, signalling for the start of a new chapter, I send my roots down into the cool earth. The soil nurtures my stems, donating water all around me. My relatives haven’t woken up from their slumber yet, and I am the first to regain consciousness after the great attack of the fields. I can still imagine it – the evil mutations of monkeys spilling their orange dust everywhere. It spread like a virus and took many lives. We have had to use our methods. Happily, no humans were hurt. But that was a mistake. They returned every week, especially in summer, and burned our bodies like crazy. Some elders were transformed into charcoal with a power none of us trees will ever understand. Or so we thought. I hear a sound, the rustle of bushes, but no snap of branches or evil maniac laugh of the city-livers. All is safe, I thought. I looked behind me and saw something horrible – a human. Wait, no. It must be another monkey from the younger trees, otherwise a few thousand of my branches would have disappeared by now. I decided to speak to it, as animals and plants where the only living things that can understand us. If you include the humans as living things. It seems as if they are possessed by that weird spirit my forty-seventh ancestor was possessed by. Real damage to us. So, then, every living thing can understand us as no human being is living.
‘Who is thee?’ I thundered.
‘It is I, James! Wait, do trees speak?! I swear my older bro did something to my phone when I was staring at him so I could imagine this’.
‘I AM REALLY SPEAKING, MR MONKEY!’ the tree yelled so loud his sleeping relatives almost woke up.
‘Strong curse, big bro’.
‘Look, are you even a monkey? You act very uncivilised for one!’
‘Umm… I’m not.’
The tree was dumbfounded. If this creature wasn’t a monkey, what was it? And ape? But suddenly the thought struck the ancient one – it could have been a civilised human! It could be one of the humans who went for conservation clubs or something like that! Wait, he realised, then I could get him to help us trees! ‘Hye, human! You are a human, right?’ he continued at the sight of the nod, ‘I want to ask you something. Can you help us ancient trees? Your kind have been trying to destroy us for the past millennia, but we have stood strong. We are a significantly powerful species, and we have survived dangers even you cannot think of. If we died, you would not have such an amazing species of tree, trillions of years old, and almost unidentified on our full magic by humans, and you would not have any of us left to study! So I ask one simple favour of us, and I shall give you a lot in return. Help us stay safe. We shall not turn you into one of us, but we can grant you equivalent power. Power beyond anything you can imagine. Do you agree?’
‘I agree,’ James said after a pause, ‘But I don’t want you guys to kill humans’.
‘Whatever you ask for’ the tree answered peacefully, triumph gleaming inside his trunk, overflowing him and his branches.
40 YEARS LATER…
‘Thank you, James, for all of your kind services. And now, what you wanted at the start of our miraculous journey’. He saw his new befriended human glowing with power. And with a smile, his friend for 40 years was gone.
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 – AryanR
I have stood in this ancient grove for nine hundred years, my roots drinking from the same replenishing stream that has nurtured generations upon generations of human children. I reminisce when they built the factory-a mere eighty winters ago -how my venerable bark shivered as my fellow companions were viciously lumbered. They never understood the sheer grief and how I wept golden sap for my fallen brethren, how I pitifully listened as the piercing screams of my fallen comrades were swept away by the death-filled autumn wind.
As the catchment of the beige factory walls were placed together, my heart knew that nothing would ever be the same. It was right. As centuries of fellowship had imminently vanished, my heart filled with grief and sorrow after the hopes of new generations were relinquished. The factory-it had brought nothing but despair and demise. No amenity could ever replace the pain felt when the death of my family occurred and centuries of togetherness had washed away like a wave. However, the families that resided in the depths of the lush forest had felt immense joy and comfort whenever they passed by me-the only tree in the grove remaining. One girl, around five years of age coming would frequently stroll past, and she would clamber atop me, my old limbs deteriorating and creaking. We cherished the indelible memories that were created, every moment prized like a jewel.
Sadly, her parents had founded the pollution emitting factory, the bitter taste of polluted water corrupting my withered roots. As much as I wished to, I could not bring myself to trust the girl. the little child’s parents were responsible for causing all the cruel devastation that had been reflected on me. I yearned for them to realise their aberrations but that moment never came. I had noticed that happiness was just a fleeting moment, all my joy being pulled away as the pollution crept into my body. The lingering feeling of hatred staying in my archaic body. The secrets of generations and families were entrapped and embedded in me. I knew that when my old body gave way to the ice-cold touch of death, lost secrets would leave my soul, never to be discovered again.
I had fought the pollution that slithered up my body but I simply could not tolerate the derogatory impacts of the blackening wisps of smoke that made their way into my withering body. Soon, the last of my life were taken, my delicate bark now peeling back. I looked around fro the last time, and noticed something-the demolition of the factory. I groaned and moaned as death himself took my miserable life, the seeds of my willow spreading, and the pollution lessening…
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SCHOL-Y5_WK4 – Sinduja
My roots go deep, deeper than anyone can dig! I’m an ancient oak tree, and I’ve seen so much happen. I’ve felt the ground shake, seen the seasons change again and again, and watched history unfold. I’ve seen kingdoms rise and fall, and people come and go, all from my spot on this hill.
Way back, before there were cars or planes, the land was alive! It was full of birds singing and leaves rustling. The people who lived here then knew all about nature. They listened to the wind and the trees, and they understood the earth. They were part of the forest, not separate from it.
Then things started to change. Slowly at first, like a plant growing. People started to change too. They got new tools, and they worked faster. The forest, which was their home, became something they used. I watched as trees around me were chopped down. It was sad to see them go.
One day, the ground shook in a different way. It wasn’t just the sound of axes, but a big, loud rumble that went right through me. A big cloud of dust appeared, and it was hard to see the sun. The air smelled scary, like something bad was going to happen. Lots of people ran past me, looking scared. They were running away from something.
Then we heard shooting! Bang, bang, bang! It went on and on. People were shouting, and there were loud noises like big booms. I stood still, watching everything. The ground got wet with blood, and the air smelled bad. I felt scared for the people fighting.
The fighting went on for a long time. When it stopped, it was very quiet. The forest was still, and the air smelled like smoke. There were broken things everywhere, and people who were hurt.
I stood there, feeling sad. The sun went down, and it got dark. The people who were left walked away slowly.
The war ended, but things were never the same. The forest was changed, and it wasn’t as nice. But I was still there. I’m strong, and I’ll keep standing. I’ve seen lots of things, but I’m still here. I’m a reminder that nature is strong, and I’ll keep watching over the world. I’m the ancient oak, and I’ll always be here.
The Ancient Oak Tree
My roots go deep, deeper than anyone can dig! I’m an ancient oak tree, and I’ve seen so much happen. I’ve felt the ground shake, seen the seasons change again and again, and watched history unfold. I’ve seen kingdoms rise and fall, and people come and go, all from my spot on this hill.
Way back, before there were cars or planes, the land was alive! It was full of birds singing and leaves rustling. The people who lived here then knew all about nature. They listened to the wind and the trees, and they understood the earth. They were part of the forest, not separate from it.
Then things started to change. Slowly at first, like a plant growing. People started to change too. They got new tools, and they worked faster. The forest, which was their home, became something they used. I watched as trees around me were chopped down. It was sad to see them go.
One day, the ground shook in a different way. It wasn’t just the sound of axes, but a big, loud rumble that went right through me. A big cloud of dust appeared, and it was hard to see the sun. The air smelled scary, like something bad was going to happen. Lots of people ran past me, looking scared. They were running away from something.
Then we heard shooting! Bang, bang, bang! It went on and on. People were shouting, and there were loud noises like big booms. I stood still, watching everything. The ground got wet with blood, and the air smelled bad. I felt scared for the people fighting.
The fighting went on for a long time. When it stopped, it was very quiet. The forest was still, and the air smelled like smoke. There were broken things everywhere, and people who were hurt.
I stood there, feeling sad. The sun went down, and it got dark. The people who were left walked away slowly.
The war ended, but things were never the same. The forest was changed, and it wasn’t as nice. But I was still there. I’m strong, and I’ll keep standing. I’ve seen lots of things, but I’m still here. I’m a reminder that nature is strong, and I’ll keep watching over the world. I’m the ancient oak, and I’ll always be here.
The Ancient Oak
The tree was motionless, unmoving – but very well alive. It had its own thoughts, feelings, and although rendered motionless, it had power over all else. It had been standing for decades, centuries, only the tree knew. It heard every whisper, every secret, and unknown, it knew everything. It stood, tall and proud, leaves and twigs blossoming into fragile flowers of all the colours in the spectrum. And as the months passed by, spring became summer, and birds flocked to rest with newborn babies. Slowly, the months, flew by, yet again – and autumn rose in. The viridescent leaves morphed into a beautiful orange, and the wind slowly build into strong gusts of wind. And then winter came, sharp as a frozen icicle, crashing the fragile ecosystem. And suddenly, spring waltzed in, and the cycle repeated.
For centuries, the ancient oak witnessed these seasons pass by, to it, they were mere seconds, compared to the way we perceive time. And then, one peaceful summer morning, everything changed.
It all began, on a normal day. The birds flew in, bringing song, rhyme, and everything nice. The bees brung the honey, nectar, and everything sweet. The squirrels brought acorns, nuts, and everything cheeky.
And the men disrupted the tranquility, the thin, interwoven tapestry, filled with threads of life. It shot the birds, slaughtered the squirrels, and caught the bees. But worst of all, the men came with their heavy, polished silver axes, swinging at the trees. One by one, generations of precious trees were felled, like dominoes.
And then it was the ancient one’s time. It was chopped in half, rose gold sap spilling out, centuries of knowledge cut away from the world. And all was over, an alive forest turned into a field of land, stained with knowledge. Oak stumps was the only evidence of one existing life – and all was over.
My Writing –
The Ancient Oak
The tree was motionless, unmoving – but very well alive. It had its own thoughts, feelings, and although rendered motionless, it had power over all else. It had been standing for decades, centuries, only the tree knew. It heard every whisper, every secret, and unknown, it knew everything. It stood, tall and proud, leaves and twigs blossoming into fragile flowers of all the colours in the spectrum. And as the months passed by, spring became summer, and birds flocked to rest with newborn babies. Slowly, the months, flew by, yet again – and autumn rose in. The viridescent leaves morphed into a beautiful orange, and the wind slowly build into strong gusts of wind. And then winter came, sharp as a frozen icicle, crashing the fragile ecosystem. And suddenly, spring waltzed in, and the cycle repeated.
For centuries, the ancient oak witnessed these seasons pass by, to it, they were mere seconds, compared to the way we perceive time. And then, one peaceful summer morning, everything changed.
It all began, on a normal day. The birds flew in, bringing song, rhyme, and everything nice. The bees brung the honey, nectar, and everything sweet. The squirrels brought acorns, nuts, and everything cheeky.
And the men disrupted the tranquility, the thin, interwoven tapestry, filled with threads of life. It shot the birds, slaughtered the squirrels, and caught the bees. But worst of all, the men came with their heavy, polished silver axes, swinging at the trees. One by one, generations of precious trees were felled, like dominoes.
And then it was the ancient one’s time. It was chopped in half, rose gold sap spilling out, centuries of knowledge cut away from the world. And all was over, an alive forest turned into a field of land, stained with knowledge. Oak stumps was the only evidence of one existing life – and all was over.
MY WRITING – sozzy if doubled