We picked a handful of wood strawberries along the sunlit path.

In the wood-sere of late winter, the old orchard stood gaunt and silent under the grey sky.

The craftsman selected a slab of rosetta wood for the tabletop because its warm, reddish-orange veins would catch the light beautifully.

After college, Maya opened a small wood shop where she crafted custom furniture from reclaimed timber.

At sunrise, wood ducks glided across the pond, their reflections rippling in the golden light.

The wood drake preened its iridescent feathers by the marsh, unconcerned by the passing kayakers.

During the hike, I spotted an unusual patch of wood cudweed carpeting the forest floor.

A wood duck perched on the branch of the old oak, preening its iridescent feathers in the morning sun.

The wood-wroth king stormed out of the council, his face flushed and his voice booming.

Wood wasps bored into the damp firewood overnight, leaving thin tunnels packed with sawdust.