Writers Circle Prompt: Write about a forest without mentioning color

A woods I know intimately

Behind my grandmother's large Victorian house was a hill.  Actually, there were 2 hills of woods with a valley of tall weeds between them, woods that I liked to imagine were in the foothills of the Catskills, though we were closer to the Hudson River than to the foothills.  This Hudson River Valley site was my playground from ages 7 through 14, as my family lived in an apartment that was part of grandmother's Victorian.  These woods were home to the famous climbing tree that I read about last week.

Two separate paths went to the climbing tree.  One passed around the weedy meadow to a break of stones that led up the sides of both the east and west hills.  Across this wall, I could turn left and climb up the east hill to the climbing tree, walking on the wall while watching out for loose slate and stone and rattle snake homes.  But my favorite way led up along the crest of the east-side hill where an apple tree, ferns, berry fronds, dogwood trees, and young pines stood back from the stony and moss-covered path.  I could walk here without brushing into the wild plants.  The reindeer moss was my favorite, as it inched over the more common mosses and lichens.  The way led up and down one rise and then another and another, each time rising higher and not going as low.  The climbing tree lay near the third crest just before a more intact stone wall with spindly pines on the other side.  The woods changed here to a pine needle carpet under pine trees.  The ferns and berries and dogwoods disappeared.  About 50 feet into this new forest, a cliff broke the hill in two--a cliff with a swift moving stream leading down toward the Hudson River.  My brother and I would slide down the shale on the least steep cliff edge and then walk on stepping stones to the middle of the stream where we sat with our legs dangling in the cold water.  We shared the stream with honey bees who were too busy to bother us.  And we never tried to follow them either, though we know they made their honey in one of the trees in the woods.

The stream, woods, and two hills were the southern border of my grandmother's 40 acres.  Her Victorian home sat in the opening to the valley full of weeds--tall flowers and tall grass, milkweed, bachelor buttons, thistle, burdock, Queen Ann's lace, and weeping willow trees.  The west woods held more varieties of trees than pines, with maple, oak, and horse chestnut the most numerous.  At least, that's how I remember it.  The ground had crumbling leaves instead of pine needles.  The hillside was a steep slant upwards with no subtle turnings.  And an old vacated chicken house sat near the bottom.  After my family helped to clean and paint the interior, this was a fine place to be alone, though I had to share it with spiders and flies as well as hornets, moths, my brother, and my cousin.