A Narrative Essay About A Place Shimla

Today, as the rain was tapping on my window, I stared out at the storm clouds casting shadows onto the long green fields of spring. As I was watching as the grass and the leaves in the trees on the horizon sway with the wind, my mind was recalled to a time that I’ve been trying to hide away for a long while now.

The sun was glistening through the tall, swaying pines. To the right of the trail, a gentle river flowed softly down towards the mouth of the lake. Walking across the rickety wooden bridge, I inhaled a deep breath of refreshingly crisp mountain air. The sun beat down on me as I made my way across the bridge and back onto the well-used hiking trail. The ambient sounds of chirping birds, babbling water, and the croaks of several frogs filled my ears as I made my way around the bend. As I entered the mouth of the forest, I could see my father standing in the middle of the path, glancing upwards, taking in the beauty that had began to engulf us. “We better get going.” he said, looking back at me. “There’s still many miles to go.” I smiled and turned, taking in one last view of the beautiful creekside. Then, with determination, we set out to finish the challenging trek we had started.

Already in the beginning, miles of farmland wedge between John and Ann as he ventures off to “help [his father] with his chores, while “mak[ing] sure he’s all right in case [they] do have a storm.” Without her husband for company, she spends the day alone at home, painting, “brooding” and witnessing the intensity of the storm grow vicious. As “the double wheel around the moon” foreshadowed, the storm tested the “elements of human meaning and survival,” forcing the wise to stay indoors away from its “sharp, savage blows.” Also, the desolate prairies, themselves, add to the tense, stultifying aura of solidarity. While the landscape lay bleak and uninviting, how even “the distant farmsteads [Ann] could see served only to intensify a sense of isolation” appears clear. Not only “miles deep between her now and John,” Ann faces a natural barrier between the neighbouring homesteads as the “long white miles of prairie landscape” conceived a “region strangely alien to life.” In essence, the physical barriers, from the “sudden, maniac raging of the storm” to the vast stretches of farmland, allows loneliness and the “ever-lurking silence” to creep into the characters’ hearts until suffering takes control of their

Being in the home was like a separate world, one between life and death. When I reached the outside world again everything seemed so fresh. There were bright yellow-green leaves that hung with an arrogant vivacity, cars that sped by with such fervor, wind blowing with verve and energy, lively children playing with a vivacious lust for life, and the vitality that exudes from the air into your lungs. I wanted to bring this energy into

I awoke on a cool summer morning, at first I wasn't completely there but then, a chill of excitement ran down my spine as I realized my family was going camping today. I ran down stairs past the mountains of camping supplies and clothes to talk to my parents in the kitchen. They said we were leaving soon and that I should start packing all of the supplies into our trusty old Ford Expedition. After about 20 minutes of packing our SUV to the brim with all of the things we would need to survive in the wilderness for a few days, we said goodbye to our three cats and headed for Steelville Missouri.

After two long hours of traveling with nothing to look at but the passing trees, we finally arrived at the farm. As we piled out of the car, I looked at the dirt road we came in on and turned to the house. It was one story and had a red tin roof, surrounded by a large grassy field and then woods beyond that. Twirling around, I walked into the house and plopped onto the closes bed. As everyone else unpacked, I locked myself in the room like a petulant child.

The night before had brought a starless night with rain, but daybreak cracked through on a promising Saturday morning. The sky awoke with clouds dissipating. Hues of indigo beckoned the light between the black sky and the blue. Fog clung to the rolling hills while the varnished sun lit up the fields. In the distance, a faint sound rumbled over the quiet wisps still hanging in the air.

Strutting through the familiar, gate worn by time, I spread my arms, taking in the saccharine aroma of the fresh grass. The remaining glimmers of the sun glisten on every blade that peeks through the moist soil, composing a sea of sparkling beauty, only comparable to a poem. The meadow is breathtaking this evening, as the sun sets behind the trees in the distance, leaving a glow of pinks, peaches, ambers, and crimsons behind as if a bowl of fruit had exploded in the sky.

The mountains towered over us threateningly. The only reason I joined the research group was to escape normal life. The same everyday routines were torture to me. The grass around me fluttered gently, creating this enchanting illusion of a grassy, green wave of greatness. The sky was filled with fluffy wild clouds, dancing around in unison.

The region of the Middle East and its inhabitants have always been a wonder to the Europeans, dating back to the years before the advent of Islam and the years following the Arab conquest. Today, the Islamic world spreads from the corners of the Philippines to the far edges of Spain and Central Africa. Various cultures have adopted the Islamic faith, and this blending of many different cultures has strengthened the universal Islamic culture. The religion of Islam has provided a new meaning to the lives of many people around the world. In the Islamic world, the religion defines and enriches culture and as a result the culture gives meaning to the individual. Islam is not only a religion, it is in its own way a culture. It may be this very

It goes without saying that everyone on earth has at least one sanctuary. For some, this place is high up in the branches of a tree, where they can touch the sky with outstretched fingertips and feign a lack of attachment to the busy world lying below. For others, this sacred place might be found in a place as close and accessible as a cubbyhole in their own home. For others still, it might be in a library, or on a quiet mountaintop, the hard pews of a church building, or even a person. I myself have found my haven to be far away and, for now, out of my reach, in a city called Wilmington in North Carolina. It is the seventh or eighth largest city in the state, but the downtown area isn’t too busy to relax and breathe in the fresh air drifting from the beach only a few miles away. It is peaceful and serene, but still bustling with just the right amount of life and activity to be always uplifting, and flawless in its own way.

I had violent, grass-stained war games with my neighborhood friends, while my mother worked in her small vegetable garden among the honeybees, and watched things grow. An ever-present warming smell of knishes and hot dogs permeated around every inch of my block as the nearby concession pumped a constant flow of fresh food to hungry little leaguers and their families. Looking up, the summer sky looked like an Easter egg God had dipped in blue dye.

The grass was soft and green, reserved for those who wanted to lie down or sit. A sweet aroma of flowers overflowed near by like s shinning light, but was hidden by the untrimmed bushes and wildly growing trees. Up above me was the beautiful, high noon blue sky spotted with fluffy, white clouds and airplanes flying by. I emerged into the parking lot and stopped happily as a squirrel under a tree. Hesitating to proceed anywhere further I took a few

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.

My favourite place is Hyderabad. I like it for it’s culture, location, good connectivity with other cities, somewhat moderate climate, the economy, infrastructure, education, different markets and lots of other things. It’s a city where you find all the useful things in one place, it’s also an IT-BPO hub, the daily goods and services are very affordable and of reasonable quality, eateries offering a variety of cuisine also at very affordable rates, and to me as a practising Muslim, there are a lot of mosques belonging to all the schools of thought.