Descriptive Essay About A River

John M. Barry, author of Rising Tide: The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How it Changed America, communicates his fascination with the Mississippi River by using diction, imagery, and syntax. Barry’s word choice conveys the mechanical force of the river; his use of imagery the beauty, and his use of syntax the unpredictability. Barry’s command of rhetorical devices draws the reader in and brings the Mississippi River to life.

When I crossed by the snow covered sign that read “Welcome to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness National Park” and looked at what surrounded me, I was beside myself. I didn’t know that trees could ever be so beautiful. The towering trees were the perfect shade of dark emerald green, and the way the snow piled on them looked like painting. I thought I was living a fairytale. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever laid eyes on.

When the Macleans, especially Norman speaks of the river they are also referring to life, their lives, and themselves. When Norman couldn't

The River by Gary Paulsen is a Realistic Fiction novel. The River has 133 pages. According to a customer review on Amazon, “I loved how Brian returned just to save people's lives.” I think the intended audience is for 3rd grade and up because there are some terms and words that young children won’t understand.

Maclean also uses the rivers changing topography to reveal his emotions once he returns to Montana from his time at Dartmouth, a much more metropolitan refined place. He writes, “the family river changed find that quote”, and appears melancholy, but later comes to accept that things have changed and time moves forward. Once again viewing the river as something of personal ownership reveals Norman’s own emotions about himself. He sees that the river and town has grown, with development along the river altering its serenity but then he begins to accept the change (find quote) as part of the cycle of growth and acceptance. Because he uses the river to represent himself, his long thoughts about the industry developing symbolize norman’s internal conflict returning to a very different Missoula than the one he left. The moment he learns to accept that things change, like the town becoming larger and more urban, and cannot be the same forever marks the peak of character growth. Throughout the entire novella, these emotional changes are highlighted through metaphors involving the river

I was a passenger in the backseat of our family vehicle. The small bumps in the pavement lulled me to a place of perfect repose. As we looked outside our windows we could see the sky painting a magnificent show for us. The sun was going down, but the heavens were brighter and more astounding than I had ever seen them before. It was as if someone had set the clouds alight with raging wildfires and splashes of pink and purple scattered about. I never wanted it to end, but the sky had other plans. The masterpiece before us began to recede into darkness as the nighttime engulfed the sun and put daytime to

Two places I would like to live when I grow up would be either in Toronto, the capital of Ontario, located in southeastern Canada, or Niagara Falls, the most southern point in Ontario, a major tourist city in Canada. Why? Perhaps my primary reason is that Niagara Falls is my hometown and Toronto is the longest place I’ve lived so far—six years. Of course, there are many alternative reasons likewise. Such as the scenery of the Niagara Falls itself is extremely beautiful, moreover natural, hence it is number five of the world’s top visited tourist attractions respectively. According to “The World’s 50 Most Visited Tourist Attractions” by the Huffington Post, 22.5 million people visit annually, acquiring maximum tourists from June through August. This fascinating city overlooks the Horseshoe Falls, otherwise known as the Canadian Falls, which carries nine times more water than its American counterpart. Here, the alluring crescent shaped cataract is a prodigious fifty four meters, or one hundred and seventy seven feet high. Going up close to the falls on the boat was just incredible, although I was only four at the time—I still remember—to think, by what means did nature make something so befittingly stunning! As we neared the falls, the sound of the limpid, fleet water rapids joyfully cascading off the cliff like syrup, consequently pounding against the rocks at the bottom, unmistakably gets louder likewise thundering, until it is deafening. Despite the sound being obstreperous, it is a fraction of nature’s rumbles, making it vibrantly flawless. Accumulating at the bottom, it foamed into lather, bubbling to the surface, shimmering and sparkling as if bejeweled with silver, glinting in the aureate light. At that moment the sun came out, its rays catching onto the watery slide, setting onlookers into a trance. Simultaneously turning it glittery like shreds of silky silver, magical like a spray of fairy dust. While significantly having the same dreamy and illusory façade of a Renaissance painting and the glistening sorcery a mirage brings, it created a filmy mystique around the cascade. As it gurgled within its depths and tinkled on the surface—us onlookers were astonished. Sometimes, a faint band of distinctive

In “Life On the Mississippi” by Mark Twain, the author clarifies his experience as a river steamboat pilot on the Mississippi River and how his visualization of the river changed from positive to negative throughout the story.

Arriving in the overgrown drive way trees start to crowd your vision, in the middle of all the trees I see an old beach house; that has stayed the same over the 18 years I have been going up there. Grandma is waiting outside on the front porch we all run up to give her a hug, then we go and start unpacking for a week’s worth of relaxing. First thing we do when were done unpacking is go to the old but new play structure. We sit on the swings and look out towards the big blue Michigan Lake. White caps cover most of the water along with passing boats, and some kayakers. Right over the horizon I can see the lights from the town, reaching into the sky. The sun is starting to set; the sky is painted with pink, orange, and yellow.

The lake darkens as the ominous clouds race across the sky, as black as the devil’s soul, and swallows the bliss-blue complexion of the sky faster than you can blink. The world has abruptly become cellar-dark and the heavens above look to collapse down upon me. A deafening wind runs over the landscape like a thousand horses, the noise of the raindrops their clattering hoofs. The threatening force of the gales knocks and blows the trees in precarious ways, almost as though, if it had wanted to, the wind could blow them away as if they were but feathers, not heavy pines. Lighting lights up the sky like liquid, golden ore streaks being forged into forks up above. Wriggling and writhing with the pain of their own existence. Flashing once, twice, three times, polished and glossy like the cold prongs of the apocalypse. Shaking myself from my weather-caused trance, I hurry for shelter under a nearby fern tree. Staring deep into the blackness of the storm I wonder whether I will ever see that bliss-blue appearance

The clearing was quiet, it seemed lifeless. The Salinas River still flowed merrily near the hillside. The water was still warm from the afternoon sun, and still reflected a green hue. On one side of the river, the smooth foothill slopes still curved up to the strong and rocky Gabilan Mountains, and the other side was still lined with trees. The willows and sycamore branches still swung gently in the wind, and the leaves still created a green light within the space. It was totally calm and peaceful… but something was wrong. The air seemed heavier, and the sun seemed dimmer. No animals stirred, and everything seemed to be aware of a deep sadness. Nothing moved save for a small group of men standing around an unmoving figure.

Today I’m going to write about a piece of the Manistee River that’s near and dear to me. It’s a small plot of land just south of the 45th parallel. The area is Springfield Township in Fife Lake Michigan. This is now my father’s final resting place, which is fitting because it was his favorite place to sit and ponder life. The beauty and tranquility are breathtaking, however, due to human interaction, it’s begun to lack what it once had. In 1977 the graduating class of high schoolers decided to alter the area forever. They

There are many natural places all over the world. One of the places I have been to, and really enjoyed, is Niagara Falls. This place is absolutely amazing. It has amazing sights and scenes, as well as other fun tourist attractions. Going on the tour at Niagara Falls taught me a lot about the site. I love this place because everytime I go there I am sent to this place that I could find, it just takes me away

The opening line “I’ve Known Rivers” (1) describes the narrator of the way a grandpa tells a grandchild a story. This gives the impressions he has lived a long life and spent quality time on the river and is about to share his story. One could argue that he has grown wise and intelligent because of his age and known what life had to offer. The narrator uses a simile to compare the age of the river to the age of the earth “ancient as the world” (2). This comparison establishes the river being as old as the planet. Next, there is a metaphor that tells the reader that the world and rivers are older than human beings “flow of blood in human veins” (3). The reader can make the correlation that we are the same as rivers. Human veins have the same look as rivers and blood flow through the veins just like water flowing down a river. The narrator compares the depth of his soul with the depth of water with “My soul has grown deep like the rivers” (4). We can refer to the depths of African Americans history and their overall existence on the earth. Rivers take years to erode the soil below and is always becoming deeper and deeper. The narrator is telling the reader that after all the racism he has seen has taken something out of him mentally and physically. His thoughts become mentally exhausted and just keeps flowing just like rivers. The idea of

Going up that river was like traveling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings . . . There were moments when one's past came back to one, as it will sometimes when you have not a moment to spare to yourself; but it came in the shape of an unrestful and noisy dream, remembered with wonder amongst the overwhelming realities of this