Anything wrong with my descriptive writing

The sun goes down, the shadowy of skies engulfing the bright space. I was strolling in the forest. It was spooky and frosty that the coldness of the breeze would crept into my soul sending a fright through my arteries. I witnessed the dragonfly-blue brook. It was very nice. The water glimmered with its own glory, burbling and bouncing through the hill. I jumped into that rill. The warmness the water gives me a feel of empathy. The lazy stream meandered through the verdant tropical forest, jigging over the shocked rocks. Burns are the pumping hearts of the forest, glinting clearly, as if fistfuls of diamond dust had been scattered on it. A fisherman’s line hissing, fizzing. The shaking sounds stretched to the clouds.