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.

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.

I lethargically began to move the oars across the glass of waters of Coleman Lake. The 12ft emerald row boat glides on top of the surface making its way to the opposite side of the lake. I continue rowing observing the breath taking views of this pristine lake, I swivel my head around and focus on these rustic cabins that are scattered around the lake, holding decades of memories with them as they start to sag towards me. I prop my oars up and reach around for the

The next day was hot and humid, so we waited until it was dark to go. It was about 11:00 pm until we were satisfied with the temperature. My Mom, aunt Shannon, cousin Reed, and I all got into the car, and began our trip to the lake. On arrival, I could already see the water rushing around, crashing into the concrete walls. A few people were fishing on the end with no walls, just big rocks here and there. There were some lights shining, with different insects buzzing around them, so you could see.

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.

Watching the water glistening and shining was always so peaceful. Your arms rested upon an old wooden railing, which creaked with every movement. You leaned forward to watch a fish leap out of the water, flying into the air for a moment, before returning to the lake. As you heard the loud creaking of the railing, you tried to lean back, but before you knew it you’d lost your footing and felt yourself plunged into the lake’s depths, a scream escaping your lips before water surrounded you.

The swooshing of the waves lightly grabbing at the shore fills my ears as I stand on the stone stairs. After so many years they have started to crumble, the small pieces sticking to my bare, wet feet. Large rocks surround the stairs, their colors arranged from white to pink to gray. The sandbox, lined with dark brown planks of wood, mocks me as I remember burying my feet in the sand. Near the sandbox is a light brown picnic table, gum sticking to the bottom waiting for its next victim to touch it. The smell of fish and snails reeks, but I find myself inhaling as much as I can. At the other side of the lake is a thin, dark green line of trees, houses peeking out from behind them. To my left is the hidden path that curves and winds finally leading

Lake Willowberry wasn’t an enormous lake, but it was sizable, with the approximate circumference length of a rounded football field. The lake was not far from my house, it was in the forest, and the forest encroached the south side of my fence—standing tall like a citadel of pine trees.

A lake is no place for a watch. I think it’s unreasonable to request anyone to keep time in such a place. My tan forearm barred no watch; no stripe of pale skin to indicate a childhood subject to the constraints of Tick and Tock. A timeless realm, the lake emancipated the soul and the body, allowing both to mingle with nature. My bare, unpainted toes were always covered with mud from walking the trail around Apache Lake, past the little outhouse, Carp Cove, but not as far as Hodgson’s dusty old cabin. It was difficult to see from the road, and at times I felt nobody ever went there but me. Tall yellowed grasses embraced the water’s rocky edge like a mother’s protective hug. Clumps of Aspen whispered collectively as I built forts in their midst, and Ponderosa tress stood tall and unyielding, looking down at my imaginative creations with approval. The wind and the euphonious lilt of the Meadowlark were ideal companions as I played and watched and wondered.

In the second entry, I will discuss the impact that the physical landscape has on the girl. Every time she visits the lake, over a 6 year period, she discovers something new about the lake and herself. She begins to connect more over the years and the lake ends up meaning more

An unmodified, relaxing resort that changes everyone blessed enough to know of this wonderful lake. A place with no worries, in the deep northern Wisconsin wood, with a clear spring-fed body living in the middle that sustains the rest of the life in this small piece of Mid-Western paradise. The smell of your next meal emitting from the blindingly white building that constantly stares at the small Lake Clare, with the eagles and osprey floating above it. You can hear the lagoon lapping against the shore as you reflect on life and unwind from your troubles and worries. The lake takes everyone back to the past when they contained less days under their belt and reminds them of the days they stood by their side. Along the lakeside lays simple,

Far down a dusty highway sat a quaint little neighborhood in the rural sides of Indiana. This suburban edition went by the title of Stable Acres. The roads were old and scared with lines of tar and gravel to fill the streets riddled with potholes. The thin asphalt path snaked around trees and other houses. In my grey suede car seat, I could feel our maroon car, with interior the color of sand, come to a smooth complete stop. Outside there was a house painted a deep rich red and a concrete driveway that was also very tan. Past the windows you could see dainty ivory lace curtains that kept out the harsh sunlight. Suddenly, my car door would be opened, and my mother would place my one hand into my second home, my grandmother.

Clark and his sister Martha had moved to this rather small unknown town hidden in the woods called Robertsville. It had one food market, a gas station, and only two thousand residents. Their school was barely the size of their petite secluded house. Before they moved, about a year or so ago, Clark's family lived in a large residential area. This change was a large contrast compared to their new home. They had

At the end of the dock is a sign that reads; "No Fishing, No Swimming, No Dumping"; a sign that is quite often recognized by all visitors of parks and lakes and as big as the windshield. Around the lake there a hills and valleys around Lake Lavon. $200,00 home are springing up like mad. Retirees, former airline pilots, and people generally burned out on big cities are discovering Lake Lavon. The small lake but the perfect weather, and the safe-quiet atmosphere are drawing people like a cover-up draws Ed Bradly. Without thought or hesitation we smiled and warmly held ourselves in each other arms and slowly sat down together at the end of the dock, put out feet in the water and the water was so cool like melted water from snow (to eat the strawberries we brought). The strawberries were delicious; red, ripped, and plumped; sweetness caressed our mouth with very bite. Some were quite sour, but was washed it away by an ocean of water every time. As supplies ran short she decided to play lazy and had me carry her to watch the people fishing by the dock. Although very distinctive and precise, I was like a bear; very step was heavy and short. To the left side of the dock about 200ft people ware fishing and kid's playing soccer on the field near the lake. By watching them play I remember my childhood, that my mother always took me to the Lake Lavon every weekend to fishing, and now I'm with my girlfriend holding her hand and watching people fishing and

Though the green state of Virginia, I hear my sister yell “Look at the hills!” Confused, I follow my sister’s eyes, spotting a beautiful line of hills full of trees in front of us. After finding out that we’ll be passing through the hills for our journey, I feel filled with joy because I’ve always been fond of mountains and hills. As my dad navigates us high up into the hills, we spot to the side of the road to take in the magnificent view in front of us. I see the cars below us, scurrying around like ants on a sidewalk, and the clouds above us seem to be so close that I can grab by raising my arms. Taking a deep breath, I smell a fresh, earthy smell of trees, the type that’s immediately after it rains. After a couple of minutes of admiring the view, we decide to get back on the road and finish up our