Clackamas Town Center Descriptive Essay

Cars, trains, and planes, they allow us to move great distances away from family and friends. In a car 20 miles may not seem long but in reality is quite a ways away. Anyone nowadays can travel far in a short amount of time especially away from family. That’s what cars are

From my room,I had smelt and sensed that rain was about to  arrive and had scurried outside before the drops commenced.Sweet anticipation formed inside as I awaited the blissful raindrops to pelt me on my face and body.The wind rose higher and grew frighteningly violent,swirling throwing rocks and gravel into the air.The thin

When the bus first got there I was feeling a whirlwind of emotions fright , anxiety, nervousness. At the front gate there were metal detectors making a the regular sounds, no sounds and the annoying beeping which signified the guilt of the rule breakers. There also was this one voice message on loop saying have a good time and it was more than a bit annoying. When the endless line finally came to an end I had a new thing to worry about, would my metal fillers set off the alarm? When I went threw I was sweating bullets, then I went threw nothing went off thankfully. I didn't go wondering around on my own, in my group was my cousin Tyler Hargarten, Chris Grunwald, Kora Grover, and a girl named Carly. Chris had the idea that we should all go to the east side of the

Rain hit my head, raced down my face and back. We trudged through the mud, sinking in our boots feet deep. All we could see was our breathe, all we could hear was the wind slapping against the trees, rain hitting, and our boots squishing in the mud. We expected the weather to be like this, the weather channel had been going crazy all week about a storm passing through our way around 5 pm today. Just as predicted the rain became heavier, fog thicker, and sky darker. But our search group did not give up; we had been searching months for the beloved missing girl named Emma Barrett in the Elliott State Forest in Oregon. She was last scene heading into the forest with her parents on a Tuesday afternoon for a hike, hours

The mud glueing my recently bought sneakers to the trail became deeper and deeper as we continued walking but I was too busy admiring the vibrant leaves around me to let it phase me. The smell of trees and the subtle trace of cinnamon floating in the air seemed to shoot into my nose. The wind picked up and formed a nice, light breeze. The crisp air blew through my hair which was firmly tied in a ponytail. I continued walking down the slender path, every once in awhile my path was crossed by a small chipmunk or squirrel. I thought back to this morning when my mom had asked me if I wanted a jacket, I refused. Regretting that decision I crossed my arms in front of my body. It was about 2:00 and I hurried along as the cold air continued whisking

The cold rain fell down on my body as I involuntarily shiver from the cold wet feeling on my skin. I look around to find myself surrounded by puddles of water and no way out. My breath was visible through the air. I was one of the best days to run in as well as the worst. It was another exciting day at track.

Chalk flying on our bruised shins and flip flop tanned, callused feet, as the ball kept bouncing. Up and up and up we go, passing houses one at a time. The ground scorching our unclipped toes as we race the cars up the street to the shaded part of the sidewalk. Pausing, only to catch our breath we wasted on hill sprints up to cooler ground, until we realize what we're stepping on. Sap as sticky as gum that has been sitting out in the sun all day, slowly dripping from the Pine tree hanging above us as if it knew the pain we were in. Out of the shade we went, dreading what lies ahead all thinking about the logic behind not wearing shoes. Finally turned the corner that led to the shaded cul de sac when he ran into her. She was not one of those ordinary neighbors. No smile rest upon this gut wrenching face that I remember from my

Water, water everywhere: It’s dripping from the dying leaves and forming murky puddles on the waterlogged forest floor. The air is sharp and pungent, almost acrid. Bracken and dry twigs are relentlessly snapping at my ankles and droplets of water are running down my spine and collecting in my sodden shoes. It’s making the late September chill bite my skin like an icy fire. It’s consuming me, engulfing me. I don’t know how much longer I can last.

Up to now, the sky had been scattered powder-puff clouds, but it was changing. The sky that looked like beautiful ribbons, all a different shade of blue was now beginning to look like a blanket of darkness. The storm clouds thickened and out of the blue a wave heavy rain poured in torrents. I was lucky enough to get the first splatter of rain on my sweater when I was about 3 steps away from the building my class was being held in. I ran into the building while the rain turned the sidewalks and roads into vast lakes of dull, muddy water. I can’t emphasis to you how relieved I felt missing the downpour of all the rain. Dark smoky clouds covered the sky, only letting a few streaks of sun slip past the barrier. The repetitious sound of raindrops striking against the windowpane blended in with the occasional thunder that roared every 20 seconds. Everything was bleak, gray, and gloomy the class atmosphere felt dispirited than it usually was during exam week. People walked with water trickling down behind them while they steadily strolled to their seat. The prof didn’t start right away knowing that students were going to need a little more time getting to class. The thunderstorm was now beginning to sound like gunshots to ones ear…the uneasy feeling was

September 24-29 our Theatre Appreciation class was encouraged to see Western Kentucky University’s production of Thornton Wilder’s play Our Town in Russell Miller Theatre. Our Town delivers a message for how we should live our lives: to the fullest. We should appreciate every moment because we may never get a second chance. The play jumps from Emily’s wedding day to her funeral in the blink of an eye, emphasizing the idea that our lives are fleeting. From the very beginning of the play, death is present in the Stage Manager’s narration. He makes it clear that the events we’re about to witness are told in retrospect, and this understanding casts a pall over the everyday occurrences we witness. The characters onstage (with the exception of the deceased Emily) do not recognize the brevity of their lives.

I’m walking now. At five in the morning with rain pouring down, I’m walking to the factory. My boots not only gush into the trash, but slosh in the mud the rain creates. I’m hugging this journal close.

I somehow end up fifteen feet up in a broken fire escape in the alleyway. It’s out of sight and out of reach. The storm still roars above my head. It’s probably going to rain again. I hope it does. I love the smell of fresh rain. It makes me feel clean whenever it rains. I wish the rain could cleanse the entire world and make all the bad, filthy things go away, but it can’t. People have to do that and that takes time and sacrifice.

Growing up in Houston, Texas I found getting around town with good transportation was important. In 1981 I remember my grandpa saying “If the traffic is a fuss, Get on the bus” and I wasn’t about to ride my bike or get on another Metro bus again. I had my first vehicle in 1981 and my days of seeing the world and traveling the highways had begun; little did I know I would use every means of travel to see the world. Traveling was in my blood, by land, air, or sea; I had to do it all.

I feel as if the rains wash away my problems that have been following me around. I sense a new beginning, a feeling of renewal washes over me as the cool rain droplets hit my face. Despite the loud angry siren slicing through the air, a calm blanket wraps around me, the excitement from earlier is long gone. As I scan my surroundings and I’m reminded that this is my home, it always has been and always will

Something slippery is caked onto my face, neck, and back; Mud.  I twist myself up and my muscles ache to be stationary again, my body is no longer meant to move it seems.  A word tries to bubble itself out of my throat, but it gets lost in the air.  I can’t hear my own voice, can’t hear the pitter sound the rain should be making.