Descriptive Essay

Traveling is one of my family’s favorite things to do. The family has visited numerous places throughout the United States, however, none are as memorable as Atlanta, Georgia. In Atlanta, there are many places to go and sights to see such as: Cola-cola factory, Cabbage Patch Kids Factory, Under Ground Mall, the Zoo, Atlanta Braves Stadium, Six Flags Over Georgia, Stone Mountain Park, and the Atlanta Aquarium, are all in or near the city of Atlanta. The three that we visit on every trip to Atlanta are Six Flags, Stone Mountain, and the Atlanta Aquarium.

Traveling is one of my family’s favorite things to do. The family has visited numerous places throughout the United States, however, none are as memorable as Atlanta, Georgia. In Atlanta, there are many places to go and sights to see such as: Cola-cola factory, Cabbage Patch Kids Factory, Under Ground Mall, the Zoo, Atlanta Braves Stadium, Six Flags Over Georgia, Stone Mountain Park, and the Atlanta Aquarium, are all in or near the city of Atlanta. The three that we visit on every trip to Atlanta are Six Flags, Stone Mountain, and the Atlanta Aquarium.

The car suddenly stopped and jolted me from my sleep. Disoriented, I looked around and tried to make sense of where I was and what I was doing. Over to my left, I saw my sister doing the same. Tall, blue, connected houses surrounded us and we were parked in the middle of a pristine parking lot. Green, luscious lawns sat in front of those blue houses. A gigantic tree surrounded by beautiful multicolored flowers sat to the left of a dumpster and a wooden sign with white script on it. “The Pointe at Stoneview,” I read to myself.

“You’ll make a lovely bouquet for my kitchen,” she whispered to the fragrant blossoms. Standing straight, she made her way to her home, looking over her shoulder at the dirt road passing along the side of it. It had been busy in the recent months, but today, it remained empty, stretching out into the horizon and into the small village below.

Walking down 7 Boyden Lane, I feel the unevenness of sidewalk. Each step is different from the last. Trying to avoid twisting my ankle from one of the cracks, that is filled with rustic green grass. As I keep walking, I hear my foot slowly step down on a leaf. Making the sound of a potato chip being eaten. Advancing forward, I soon come to a new street, surrounded by massive trees that hover over me. Enabling me to only detect little specs of the clear blue sky up above. The smell of cow manure reminiscing the air. The sun beating on my shoulders, as I hear an immense truck start to approach me. Passing me it kicks up dust into the warm air, making it impossible to see twenty feet in front of me. All the sudden my hair starts to move to the

It is mine. The golden sun that shines and kisses the tops of my shoulders. The wisps of white clouds traveling within a baby blue sky. The gentle breeze that coils itself around my arms providing relief from the warming sun. The sapphire sea and its serene waves rolling gently out to shore onto the finely grained sand. It is all mine.

it was a day like any other with no compelling attributes, except for the gentle breeze that was blowing through the city of Chicago as Anna Ortiz made her way towards the Chicago River. it was a particular gorgeous Wednesday evening in early October, just cool enough to know fall had arrived. The bright green leaves had started to fade as if by magic into Splendid red, yellow and orange shades thus creating a backdrop of tranquility and serenity in the downtown area. Anna walked subdued by the beauty of the city as everyone seemed to rush passed her. She on the other hand slowed her stride trying to enjoy the wonderful evening in the city she loved. it had been a long day at work, and being outdoors was a welcome distraction from the busyness

As we reached the park festival, it was beautiful. There were thousands of shops. It was perfect weather. The rays of sunlight came through the gaps in crisp leaves. The young children were playing excitedly with the featherlike sand, flinging it rapidly at each other. The enchanting smell of the red rose flowers takes over the place. The rustling sound of the heavy wind as it escaped through dried leaves made it feel cold and hot at the same time. In the hurry and excitement of coming in the festival, we all didn’t eat much, so we all decided to eat first.

Bright lights, unfamiliar streets. An impersonal city, shiny and new as she always pictured it. She’s all alone, surrounded by strangers whom she never has and never will again see, but the thrill of adventure overtakes all. She tries the food, flirts with locals. She loses herself in the mysterious beauty of a city prompting exploration.

People are rushing by, it’s lunchtime, and it’s chilly. I look up at the old buildings of this small city and wonder why no one is paying attention to them. Turning the corner there is an alley decorated with an archway and vines, the brick has been painted to look like windows full of vases of flowers; children smiling; curtains. Looking back at the street I wonder if the passing cars can see the group standing in the alley. Approaching a local coffee shop, there is a stand outside the door selling tacos, or was it taco soup? The owner comes outside to chat with the group and I think about how nice is. We gather around for a picture, I try to hide in back but suddenly I’m pushed to the front, damn my height. Standing in the shade I look at

There wasn’t a lot to do in our small village of Seven Mile, but we had plenty to discover. And in that fateful summer of 1981, we ventured further into the depths of our sleepy town for something, anything to break up the monotony of each sunny day. Until the last streaks of orange and violet settled on the rows of cornfields behind our houses, there was promise. On beat up bikes, we maneuvered old paths and blazed new ones until the gauzy ribbons of twilight forced us to abandon whatever mischief we had found ourselves in and peddle home. Between the last house on the street and the rural farm land that lay beyond it, our road narrowed and crossed a small creek. It was in this creek that we came upon our very first mystery; a close encounter

It’s 7:30am, I step outside onto my apartment balcony. Cars are zooming down the over crowded streets, staunch buildings towering over me blocking the greeny lush hills far away. People rapidly walking down the sidewalk. In front of my eyes are shimmery silver and navy colours reflecting from the sky high buildings, they stand out more than the joyous light blue sky itself. Sounding in my ears are cars angrily roaring every 5 seconds, people barking at taxis to stop, an earth shaking sound that’s mixed with sound of a hurricane that’s just the aeroplane taking off from the city airport. The mouth watering smell of the local bakery down the road lingers through my nose, I can taste those freshly baked scones in my mouth from here.

The scenic beauty of the village charmed me greatly. It was very sweet to me to took into the fair and open face of the village from the bus. A vise saying then came into my memory, ‘god made the village and mane made the town.’ It was now evening. The sun was going down. It looked like a large boll of fire. The cow boys were found moving home ward driving their cattle. Birds were seen returning to their nests by rows. The last rays of the setting sun fell on the green fields and produced an unforeseen sight. It filled my heart with great joy and excitement. I could enjoy the majesty of the setting sun and the pathos of darkness and patches of cloud floating in the sky were all very charming. I thought, I got myself almost lost in a dreamland and forget the world around

The world whizzed past me in the comfort of the car, the cold blanket of air unable to reach my pale skin through closed windows and blasting heaters. The radio was quiet, the music providing ambience on top of the rumbling of the car’s engine. The last beat of the current song ended, filling the car with silence. After a few heartbeats, on came the next song, and I turned my head to look at the radio, hand outstretching to turn the dial up. As the strong, pulsing notes of the electric guitar filled my car, a smile came on to my face. It pulled me back, all those years ago, to a night I was ready to party and had hoped it would never end.

He started the car, and took off, full speed ahead. I let him drive aimlessly through the streets of Paris, the City that never ceased to fill me with wonder and delight. Sanvergogne, as usual, was driving quietly, silently, waiting patiently for me to give him my orders. After a while, noticing that the sun had started to make its descent, I decided it was time to go pay a visit to Armand de Valfort.