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I. Write a descriptive piece of two to three paragraphs describing the details and colours in the garden you have visited.
- Focus on how different shades of blue, red, and green interact, create contrast, and bring the garden to life.
- Pay attention to details like the texture of petals, the varying greens of leaves, and the way light affects the colours.
Write a descriptive piece of two to three paragraphs describing the details and colours in the garden you have visited.
How to answer:
Use the shade names from Vocabulary in Context (crimson, sky blue, jade, olive…), describe textures (velvety petals, waxy leaves) and show how light changes the colours.
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Model answer:
A Garden of Colours
Last Sunday, I visited my grandmother’s garden, and it felt like stepping into a living painting. The first thing I noticed was the riot of reds — crimson roses with soft, velvety petals , scarlet hibiscus trumpets, and a creeper studded with tiny vermilion blooms climbing the gate. Against them, the greens made a perfect contrast: the lawn was a fresh apple green , the mango leaves a deep pine green , and the waxy money-plant leaves shone like polished jade . Every shade of green seemed to push the reds forward, making the flowers glow even brighter.
Above it all stretched a clear sky-blue morning, and in one shaded corner, a bed of indigo -blue morning glories opened their delicate, paper-thin petals. As the sunlight moved, the colours kept changing — dew-wet leaves sparkled almost ice blue at dawn, then warmed to a rich olive by mid-morning. Petals that looked dark in the shade turned bright and translucent the moment light passed through them.
Standing there, I understood why poets call a garden a canvas. The blues calmed, the reds excited and the greens held everything together — each shade interacting with the others like brushstrokes in a masterpiece. It was Nature’s artwork, and it was very much alive.
A Garden of Colours
Last Sunday, I visited my grandmother’s garden, and it felt like stepping into a living painting. The first thing I noticed was the riot of reds — crimson roses with soft, velvety petals , scarlet hibiscus trumpets, and a creeper studded with tiny vermilion blooms climbing the gate. Against them, the greens made a perfect contrast: the lawn was a fresh apple green , the mango leaves a deep pine green , and the waxy money-plant leaves shone like polished jade . Every shade of green seemed to push the reds forward, making the flowers glow even brighter.
Above it all stretched a clear sky-blue morning, and in one shaded corner, a bed of indigo -blue morning glories opened their delicate, paper-thin petals. As the sunlight moved, the colours kept changing — dew-wet leaves sparkled almost ice blue at dawn, then warmed to a rich olive by mid-morning. Petals that looked dark in the shade turned bright and translucent the moment light passed through them.
Standing there, I understood why poets call a garden a canvas. The blues calmed, the reds excited and the greens held everything together — each shade interacting with the others like brushstrokes in a masterpiece. It was Nature’s artwork, and it was very much alive.
