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.
As we started along the trail, I worried about forgotten items and my decision to only bring one extra pair of socks. However, after a while, I became aware of a pair of birds chattering above me and the soft murmur of water trickling down a stream bed. After an hour of walking, the trail starts winding back on itself in a series of switchbacks. The chatter between my family members slows down, as we soon struggled to breathe from exhaustion. Sometimes I was hunched over so far from my load that I would stare at my rubber-toed boots and forget to look up at the majestic trees surrounding me.
The door quickly, yet quietly opened and then shut just as quickly and quietly. A light sniffle could be heard and the quick shuffle of feet and the ruffling of a book bag could be heard. She peaked her head around the corner just in time to catch a fleeting glance of the backpack as her son slinked into his bedroom and quickly shut the door. She glances at her watch and realizes she heard the sound of the bus dropping him off twenty minutes ago. Her motherly instincts could detect something was wrong; she quietly crept to his door and her hear broke at the sound of her son’s quiet sniveling. She then softly cracked the door open and then gracefully walked in to comfort her downcast child.
Eudora Welty’s short story, “A Worn Path,” details the journey of an old woman, Phoenix Jackson, going to town to retrieve medicine for her ill grandson. Her trek is filled with many difficulties that challenge her mental and physical state. Throughout the short story, Welty relays Jackson’s experiences through the use of allusion and symbolism. In applying these literary devices, Welty successfully shows how the hardships Jackson faced increased her will to persevere despite doubt from others, deprivation, and isolation. The title, “A Worn Path,” alludes to the central theme of the short story, perseverance. Jackson’s repeated walk to town and through life enables her to learn how to use her disadvantages in her favor.
The night coats the air with darkness as we arrive. The only light is the warm glow of the headlights piercing through the thick blanket of the night, and the moon gazing down upon us. Click, our headlamps go on. We hop out the car, as a rush of whipping wind engulfs my face. The cold night air flows through the stitching of my clothes stealing the warmth from my body and sending chills down my spine. My friend and I search to find a campsite, like dogs searching for a buried bone. Walking, I can feel the crisp grit of sand shifting beneath my feet and hear the wind flowing like a river through the trees. Down the worn path, we hang our hammocks and start to gather firewood. Sounds of machetes striking branches fill the woods echoing
The first time I went on a night walk it was the middle of December, it was freezing outside and all I wore was a thin thrift-store sweater, jeans, and cheap sneakers. We started from my house and walked without any clear direction through the streets of Denton. As if some form of ironic asceticism, the cold and the tired beat of sore-soled feet drove me from my mind into an awareness of the world around me. For the first time the physical world and all its trappings revealed themselves to me outside of my prejudice of self-conceived disillusionment. The night went on. Hank and I talked for hours, beginning with simple topics, then delving into topics both more immediate and personal. With my condensating breath swinging, singing on those lofty could-haves and what-ifs, we circled streets, not paying attention to signs or direction. The glean of bottles upon newfound curbs gave us a pastime in that passing time. We took it upon ourselves to break them. Each unwanted and used up bottle we found was a chance at recycling some new cathartic understanding, and indignation at some turning system unseen yet feared glittered on the remains of those emptied vessels. Crossing drainage ditches, train tracks, fields, streets, shops, town squares of that drowsy town with our eyes enameled by the blinking street lights caught in permanent caution, we found what we were looking for: something tangible and identifiable, I found
Upon a first reading of Eudora Welty’s, “A Worn Path”, it appears to be a simple story about an old woman going into town to procure medicine for her sick grandson, who has swallowed lye (Welty 3). After further readings and doing research, the deep meaning and depth of the story becomes apparent. The worn path is much more than a routine route regularly traversed into town and back to home. The protagonist Phoenix Jackson has many more layers than the way she is perceived as an apparent no account drifter, charity case, whose only reason to head into town is to see Santa Clause (Welty 2). There is significant meaning behind the interactions with people, places, and objects that Phoenix crosses paths with on her journey into town.
It was a warm, fall afternoon in the peaceful state of Illinois. On my grandparent’s farm, I explored the land as much as I could. The various trails and wooded acres led me to creeks, caves, and historical tunnels. I would drive the four-wheeler to venture out into the landscape. The brisk wind rushes past my cheeks and the smell of birch wood and damp grass would smother nostrils.
In “A Worn Path”, by Eudora Welty, we join Phoenix Jackson on her routine voyage to town for the medicine her grandson needs to survive. Throughout this short story it is obvious that there are themes of persistence, struggle, and love. This struggle to the town is made apparent and is emphasized by the stories setting along with the use of symbolism, and mood/atmosphere of the story.
Walking back into the living room, a noise outside the back window caused her to stop in her tracks and turn to look out it. Slowly advancing the window, she noticed a figure sprinting off into the distance. Her face paled, as she reached for the door-nob to the back door. Slowly, she turned it and placed one foot in front of the other, her bare feet coming in contact with the damp
It was a dry summer afternoon before the arrival of fall, and the beginning of a new school year in the northwest suburbs of Chicago. That afternoon few of my friends from Chicago named Marshall, Kevin, Connor and I had been planning to head over to Marshall’s house after school. As the bell sounded at 2:20pm we ran quickly to our lockers, and made it to the buses. All four of us met at Marshall’s house which was tucked in behind the forest preserve along a private road off Quentin road. The conditions were just right for riding around on our dirt bikes and go-karts although at the time 85 degrees was quite warm to us Chicagoans at the end September.
Come mid-October, the hiking trails were almost barren during the week. Tourists were gone, school was in session, and the risk of a sudden bit of chill weather was enough to keep most people off the paths. Today though, it was warm, just a touch below seventy out with barely a breeze. The path that Amy and Catherine took wound through open field and heavy forest, leading to an old water tower over roots, rocks, and even steep stone stairs in some places.
Eudora Welty’s short story, “A Worn Path”, tells a story of an elderly woman named Phoenix Jackson who is making her way down a path in the woods one cold December day. Throughout the story Jackson runs into several animals and people, some are real and others are memories, daydreams or even tricks of the eye. These characters seem small at first, but they hold a much greater meaning in the story than you would expect. On the trip, the old woman faces difficult terrain that tests her strength and ability, never complaining or giving up, she just continues to push herself. Although the reader is unaware of where Jackson is going until the end of the story, with what she goes through to get there, you can tell she is determined to make it despite the obstacles she encounters.
off the trail that led into the wood. Letting out a deep sigh, and starting her car again, she
The front door slamming let Bella know her mother and the new toy boy were home. She closed her eyes, inhaled and let it out slow. When she heard her mother’s door shut and the muffled giggles that followed, she made her way to her own room.