Descriptive Essay On The Sidewalk

I live on the East side of Cedartown. There happens to be only one-way to get to my neighborhood. First, one must go South on Main street. Then cross the only railroad on Main street and take a right turn at the first intersection then continue straight, straight through another intersection. My house will be the first on the right. My house a small, one-story house painted a greenish, blue tint with a shed right beside it painted the exact same color.

The storm I witnessed was Hurricane Sandy. When I first heard of the hurricane I thought it wouldn't be as bad as some people were prediciting, but as the storm approached I certainly changed my mind. As we sat in the house it became very real how bad the storm was going to be. It was scary to hear the wind howling; blowing the trees around, hearing branches falling and the windows rattling. Hurricane Sandy left a lot of desvesation and distruction not only in New Jersey but in the Tri- State and surrounding areas. the storm left many

It was that grueling kind of boredom that makes you want to move. Need to move. Just run outside and do anything other than sit on the couch and stare at the TV screen. It was a brisk February afternoon, just a few days after a huge snowstorm had ravaged the Connecticut coast. I stepped outside onto the porch. Ice crunched under my rain boots. A gust of cold wind made my eyes water and my cheeks burn. It was only 5 o’clock, but I noticed that it was nearing dusk. The sky, a faded blue, was streaked with purple clouds and street lights were slowly flickering on. Even as I looked onto vast expanse of empty road, I felt suffocated. There was only one place that I wanted to be: the

We have been waiting nine long months, and we have had much preparation to do before the arrival of our daughter. Of all the things we have prepared for her, I am most proud of her room, my mother and I painted it and sat it up with all the accessories together. I sat on the floor and taped off the stripes to be painted, and my mom painted. It was a great team effort, and we are so happy how it turned out. With flowers and butterflies on her wall, busy pattern of stripes and beautiful colors, she is going to love her bedroom. Our crib and furniture is finally set up and put in her room. With pink and green letters above her crib spelling out the name of our precious baby

I could still hear the whispers as the police dragged my lifeless body to the squad car. My eyes were shut, but I could feel two dozen eyes glued on me. The image stayed in my mind until the images were no more. I was finally at peace. A sensation of bliss and freedom swept over me quicker than ever. Everything was swirling down the drain. Nefas, the parties, the flashes, the buzzing, everything. They said that New York was the place of opportunities, but for me, it was a place of bad decisions. It’ll be over soon.

I sat on the gentle slope of the hill overlooking the calm winding river. On either side of the river sits a brown canvas painted with the vivid colors of fall. Bright reds, oranges, and yellows speckled the mostly barren trees. On the ground, the once brightly shaded leaves appeared a dreary light brown. The fallen leaves shuffled with the light breeze, creating a relaxing sound like waves rolling on the beach.

There he was, walking into my fourth period class with a smirk on his face, and an outfit that screamed that he was cowboy. I, for one was not the type of girl to fall head over heels for a guy, but something about him stood out from the rest of the male population of the school. He seemed like the respectable type one could take home to their parents without them disapproving. His looks took hold of me and held me as if the image of his visage could never be erased from my mind. Never have I seen a more perfect person in my entire existence.

My hands start to shake as I step into the ice arena. I can’t tell if I’m nervous or just freezing. The ceiling is decorated with annoying pink and yellow streamers. Seems to be right up Susan’s alley. Susan was a friend I wasn’t used to having. She was one of the most popular girls in school and liked by other peers. Today, however, her persona was more timid and worrisome than usual. I turn my gaze towards her hands fidgeting on her shirt and look up to see her eyes with regret. Skating over to lighten her mood, her mouth forms the words “I’m so sorry”. What did she do? Especially to me? It was her birthday and I definitely did not want to spoil that. Susan grips my arm and pulls me over to the frosty hand rail. With big puffs of breath, she mutters “Please don’t get mad at me, but Aila was invited to the party”. I could feel my breathing getting short and my cheeks rosy and hot. No matter what Susan said or did, nothing could make up for inviting someone who has it out for me.

Heavy traffic, blaring sirens, and stress linger in the atmosphere of my hometown Houston. Before coming to Albion, Houston was all I knew about the city. The word city, can be defined as an abundance of things yet, as “Love Where You Live” stated in, “great cities you sense a spirit of generosity visible in small gestures and the large, and it is these that can make ordinary places extraordinary even if they are down heel”(16), yet my hometown seemed to fit the description in a peculiar manner. I lived in Houston for the majority of my life, but I cannot say that I sense a link between it and myself. Setting foot into Albion is the complete opposite. Albion drew me in with its peaceful vibes and welcoming faces. Every time I step outside I am in awe of the greenery surrounding me; whenever I take a walk and run into a stream I am baffled at the fact that the water is so clear that I can see the bottom, that I can hear the chirrup of crickets in the grass.

A sidewalk is a representation of the path you walk in life. It guides you, protects you, and makes walking down that path easier. They are a concrete road, set out before you, and even though your route is predetermined, only you can decide the destination. SIdewalks can also be seen from the perspective of your own self, and how you relate to them personally. We can use this perspective to see a different side of things, look a little deeper. In me, I see a beautifully multi-colored sidewalk, different abstract and variant stone pieces coming together to form one whole slab of an artfully designed path. Those pieces are the beautiful people in my life that make me who I am.

I’m around nine or ten years old. It’s a warm sunny day and the sky is clear of cloud’s that you can see the perfect light blue. I get a phone call from my mother on the landline. I had no idea the news she was about to tell. It was after school when the life changing call came. It was from there on that I started to slowly grow up.

I look outside the car window and see the colorless, grey sky and white clouds fly on by. Next to me is one of my best friends, Natalie, and my dad sitting in the front seat humming to a song. “This is going to be such a fun day.” I thought with a grin across my face. As we pull up to the drop off area, you can see the enormous and neon roller coasters rolling by. People of all ages scream at the top of their lungs as they go through flips, loops and drops. “This looks super safe,” I thought in my head. My dad reminds us to be safe and to drink tons of water. He drops Natalie and me off, quickly getting to the gate with a big sign reading, “Six Flags Magic Mountain”.

Sidewalks like most things in life have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Yet like most things, they come in different ways. Some seem as though they are “perfect” while others, seem as though they are broken beyond repair. Yet with these problems people still tend to find a use for them. Looking at it that way you can almost see some philosophical beauty lying deep within them that you can use to express the struggles you have had in your life. Some start out well, as a well needed path but later become inconvenienced by a tree in the way causing it to bow up. Other sidewalks are sinking, breaking, or being overtaken by grass that has nestled itself in the cracks almost like a person’s depression. My sidewalk is cracked and neglected but it is my own.

Drained, depleted, and trapped! My brain and body have kept feeling these emotions after all the overload at work lately. Even after work, my brain still couldn’t detach.I tried to recharge, but movies or a cup of coffee just couldn’t suffice to energize and relax my brain.

A week had passed since the ten-year anniversary of mom's death and again I found myself staring out the window at the gloominess. Okay, so it's just my reflection in the glass. It was a brilliant Sunday morning with an endless blue sky. The buildings, the Hudson, everything had a winter crispness to it. I wish I could enjoy it, but I can't get comfortable here, can't concentrate. Can't write. Even fifteen stories up, I felt the constant undercurrent of activity. The silent hum of a city that sometimes moves too fast for its own good, my own good.