Descriptive Ecstasy

Outside the kitchen door, blooming wildflowers circle a mini pond where several birds drink from the lap of a stone Buddha. In the rear of the yard, secluded by a lush willow tree, is the guest house. He opens the door and we walk inside. Where, right off, the sight of lavender flowers in a vase on the night table and their scent please me. As does the bright and spacious room with a skylight right above the wood framed bed.

The tulips were the same as I remembered a long time ago; a dark purple like the night sky, and I used to enjoy looking at them, but over time I got tired of it. The air stings my nose, but this isn’t an uncommon thing, I never was much of an outdoor person anyways. I look at my house and notice the bricks that he laid up halfway the wall, and the columns he was so proud of making all those years ago. I look at all this and it makes me sad in a way, for all the good times I’ve had in the past; I know those days will never come back. The wind picks up getting stronger, meanwhile the grass plays gently with the blades moving back and forth along with the trees as if it was a symphony of some

It was eleven o'clock of a Spring night in Florida. It was Sunday. Any other night, Delia Jones would have been in bed for two hours by this time. But she was a wash-woman, and Monday morning meant a great deal to her. So she collected the soiled clothes on Saturday when she returned the clean things. Sunday night after church, she sorted them and put the white things to soak. It saved her almost a half day's start. A great hamper in the bedroom held the clothes that she brought home. It was so much neater than a number of bundles lying around.

He waited until the night’s 11th hour. By now the Princess rested in the highest tower of the castle, locked away from the dangerous world, yet so oblivious to the dangers that which fated the rest of her life. Silently the peasant journeyed outside, where he stopped at the wall of the tower where she lay. He watched her in the darkness from below, lifting his face to her, letting the light rest on his every surface of darkness. The night was cloudless. The winds wailed between the motionless oak trees as its thin branches clawed out, ever so slightly disturbing the leaves with its hostile screeches. Not the thick moss of the trees nor the damp leaves squirming in his toes could distract the peasant from so enticing a scent. All that encircled him was the sweetness of lavender and rosewood, filling his entire being as he sunk into the grass, like sand washed over by the water, with every breeze passing

Analysis The author paints a picture in the readers’ mind of a nice and beautiful day in the village. Seeing this beautiful setting might cause to reader to expect happy and exciting events to follow.

The sun is out shining down on the bright sparkling marigolds, it’s quiet, nothing's open and nothing to do, but lay around and think about the stage of the world right now. I walk outside and see nothing but dullness, the dust against my feet, and the small town around me, there may have been green grass, and roads at one point a while ago “but memory is an abstract painting” . Behind me is a small shack “leaning together like a house that a child might have constructed from cards”, with no porch, on a small lot with no grass around. I have one thing that is held close to me that makes me happy, they are bright against the dust, they are my marigolds. I notice Lizabeth has her eye on the marigolds, LIzabeth doesn’t want someone to have something

In Robert Frost’s “Tuft of flowers”, the connection of man and nature leads the composer to make an emotional discovery. Frosts unorthodox rhyming style of having 5 iambs in each line makes the poem unique and its quest to realising discovery unique. With that in mind by choosing an unusual form, Frost makes the idea apparent to me in a way that is memorable. Also Frost contrasts the flower with the cut grass shows that he has encased a connection between them and himself as he recognises the beauty of the flower in “…and led my eye to look/At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook” this new understanding lead him on the path of finding the emotional discovery. Through this poem, Frost showed me that discoveries can lead to refinding yourself and finding new perceptions and by demonstrating this idea he has further my understanding of discovery through the notion of making it memorable.

My name was called eighth and my hands trembled as I walked into the cramped room. The floor and walls were covered in light blue tile and there was a slight scent of filth and dirt, but it was concealed by the overwhelming smell of bleach. Standing in front of me was an average looking petite woman with greying brown hair in a lab coat and two hairy, burly men in light blue doctor’s scrubs, they all looked menacing, which did not help with my concerns and in that moment I knew my fears were justified.

I the proceed to sit down on the worn leather couch. I made sure to sit on the left side, Markus always sat on the right side. I brought the tea up to my lips, the heat flowed through my bones. I gazed at the pictures of me and Markus on the walls. I see our wedding picture from when we were both young, pictures of us dancing and laughing. My desk had piles of cards on it that he wrote to me while he was in the field. There was an unopened one sitting on top. It said “Happy Birthday Darling” on the envelope. I couldn’t bring myself to open it, for it had arrived after his

The air was crisp and clean, as it was a mild autumn day. Throughout the forest, the sounds of nature could be heard. Birds chirping, leaves falling off trees in the midday breeze. The calm sounds of the woods gave way to a new sound: the gentle humming of a young female wanderer, on a quest to visit her grandmother. She quite enjoyed the sounds and view of the forest, as it was her favorite thing to surround herself with as she was growing up in the village not far from the forest edge. As she strolled through the winding paths of the forest road, she thought of the wonderful experiences of the day ahead with her grandmother.

But as I gradually move towards my getaway my mind is at ease because I could scent the purity and innocence of the blooming daisy and the dazzling rays of sunlight shot out and shone on my dry scaly skin i got the sensation i long

The rose garden was located on the top of a man-made hill just right of the giant 18-footed trees. This hill had a warm, humid breeze combined from the Pacific Ocean and hot Riverside hot weather. provided a hub of different types of singing birds, graceful butterflies, buzzing beetles, tall trees, and a variety of flowers from all over the world. As I walked into the garden, there were several rows of different species of roses with different colors. Surrounding the rows of animated flowers, the flowers were sectioned off in four with bright orange, mellow yellow, pure white, odd purple, fierce red, and light pink. As well, three benches placed purposefully on the perimeter of the rectangular garden. I

As all of this was happening, my wife seemed to be having the time of her life. Her face exhibited perfectly what she was experiencing, as her mouth went from a look of pure ecstasy when her boobs were being sucked (it’s the most sensitive region of her body), to an "O" shape as she moaned with Leo’s enormous cock in her mouth. All this excitement was good enough to get me charged up as well. I pulled out my own cock and began jerking, careful to keep myself out of their visibility.

The weather of the day perfectly resembles my mood. The dark, dreary clouds mimic the brooding anger bubbling up inside of me while my drenching wet window panes depict my damp cheeks. The beads of rainwater rushing down the glass, tracing paths as they go, symbolize the many tears I have shed these past few days. I place my hand against the window, fingertips lightly grazing the glass, and let my hand slowly descend towards the sill. I observe the sky absent-mindedly to see it morphing from a royal blue to the shade of my petite, knee-length dress which is black. Dull, plain, emotionless black. It’s the same dress I wore to Ryan’s surprise party I planned for him.

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