Novel & Cerita Diary Of A Young Naturalist

“Of course. Not very often are students interested in this Wisdom Pavilion. So I’m glad to see that you want to talk to the old wise men in the world.” And the door opened. The children entered a huge room where there were various framed paintings, representations of all the personalities who ever lived, famous researchers and scientists. "Let's see what we know about the diary," Johnny told the girl, with a faraway gaze as if he was a lost three-year-old child, with no parents, in one of the London train stations. “’What was written with ice ... will only be seen through ice’, the diary told me.” “What does that mean?” Johnny asked.

I opened the bottom left drawer to grab the gin that he always kept in it. I opened the top and went to take a swig when my stomach turned over. I set the bottle down, staring at it as my body screamed no again. I rolled my eyes and laid my head down on the desk. I tapped my fingers on my leg for a second before sitting up to cap the bottle. I put it away and slammed the drawer shut. I stood up and pushed the chair in. It came to a stop halfway under the desk and I pulled it back out to see what stopped it. I smiled to myself when I saw my father’s journal. I picked it up and sat back in his chair. I opened the cover. Natasha’s Guide To Our Bears. What in the hell was this? I turned the page

Slowly, she opened it. The first thing she saw was handwriting, familiar and bold. Her breath caught in her throat. Her chest tightened as her eyes fell on the neat scrawl of a name on the first page: NATHANIEL MULLER This was Nathaniel’s diary. For a moment, she hesitated. Then, with trembling fingers, she turned to the first entry. ********** July 21st, 2016

It was bookended by a yellow page like the others inside the journal. I fanned the pages, coughing as more dust was kicked up. There were scribbles and diagrams and notes all over the pages. Most weren’t written in neat, orderly lines, but rather strewn about in a leaded mess. It looked like the work of a mad scientist who never had a coherent thought in his life. There were a few pages with long diary-like entries, mostly just about apples trees and traveling abroad. I shook my head at what was supposedly Dudley’s coveted journal. The object that was supposed to reveal my purpose here, my instructions to receive his inheritance.

Stop giving out too many details," another voice echoed, surprising me. Eliot's lips still moving. Talking. But somehow I couldn't hear anything. His features slowly fading out, my mind a puzzle, shifting, a weird foreign but yet familiar feeling taking over my body. And finally, an image played out. "Why don’t you keep a diary?” the voice echoed. From a boy. A much younger boy. Very young. “You give out too many details, you may as well keep a diary. You can use it to say whatever you don’t want to tell anyone. It’ll be your own secret.”

Sketches of flowers showed not just their physical structure but seemed to capture something essential about their nature—as if Eleanor had learned to draw the souls of plants. "What are these symbols?" Iris asked, tracing a delicate spiral that seemed to pulse under her fingertip. "Miss Eleanor called them 'growth patterns.' Said every plant had its own language, its own song, and these were her attempts to translate." Mrs. Hartwell moved to one of the bookcases, withdrawing a leather-bound volume. "This was her first journal, started when she came here in 1890. You might want to begin there." The journal fell open in Iris's hands as though eager to share its secrets. Eleanor's youthful han

I start to write, my hand moving quickly across the paper: "Dear Diary, Today is the day I decided to spend an entire day naked. I know it sounds crazy, but I just couldn't resist the urge. I'm going to do everything naked – watch TV, eat, clean the house, maybe even dance around a little. I'm not sure what possessed me to do this, but I'm excited to see where the day takes me. Wish me luck!"

Although Natasha and I were both 21 years old, I was still one month older than her because I was November and she was December. Nathan, however, was 23 years old. Seeing them, they were really grown. They were both fair in complexion, just like their mom and dad. Natasha is a parrot, but Nathan has a tendency to be quiet, just like his father. As soon as they stepped in, I ran up to them, hugging Natasha tightly. She was so happy to see me, and I also hugged Nathan too. I was being complimented, told that I had grown, and all that while Natasha was playfully slapping my a$$. We went up to the room.

Haley tiptoed up, eagerly searching. “…Great-grandmother’s diary, grandmother’s diary… Mom’s diary, I found it!” She pulled out a diary, opened it under the light, and we both leaned in to read. The previous Luna Seraphina started documenting her life ever since she became Luna. She recorded details of work, probably hoping to pass on her wisdom to her successor. Her diaries were also filled with memories of her two children growing up. I even saw a photo of Asher when he was little. I couldn’t believe how cute he was.

Darien opens the box, and the first thing he sees is the leather-covered journal his father got him when he was thirteen. His father caught him admiring it when he tagged along with his father to do deliveries. As his father spoke to the bookstore owner, Darien closely admired the leather-bound journal. He loved how the leather smelled and felt under his fingers. It was so much nicer than the plain notepad he had been using. He remembers thinking how nice it would be to be able to write in something like that every day. What he never expected was for his father to take on a few odd jobs just to be able to buy that for him for his birthday.