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Descriptive Essay About Home

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I live in the “middle of nowhere.” The neighbor-less neighborhood is where home is for half of the time as the other half I live in an ever-growing college city, Columbia. I have cultivated a special appreciation for each journey home through the winding Missouri back roads that bring me to the place where my soul rests, so matter how many times I make the drive. The roads may take me to my house, but my home exists far beyond its walls. Circling around my white, two-story house there is a field of scratchy grass and flowers with a path cut directly down the middle. If you follow the path, the creek rests behind it. The creek houses memories of my sister and I journeying out into the wilderness by ourselves (despite the fact that the creek was still in our “backyard”). To us, the world was small enough that the creek by the house became a whole new planet every visit. Snapping turtles turned into legendary stories we brought up yearlong, and a hollowed, gnarled Oak stuck out so far over the stream we envisioned bears resting beneath. We kept active by trudging around the creek in knee-high muck boots chattering about setting up forts. A couple stray boots lost their lives to the mud that our stick legs could not suck out of. I always trekked alongside my sister; consequently, in any memory I have of the creek I am never alone. In contrast, the swing set sits alone in the yard; it has become dejected without a child to squeak its chains in years. Its wood has never seen a
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