Descriptive Essay - Original Writing

The day was chill and somber.  Overhead was a gray expanse of cloud, slightly stirred, however, by a breeze; so that a gleam of flickering sunshine might now and then be seen a its solitary play along the path (159).

Ronel sat down on the warm, soft, green grass. He pulled his guitar over his shoulder and leaned back against the trunk of the sturdy young Maple. His wrist bounced up and down, strumming out the relaxing tune. I was so delighted to have heard this sound, I knew he must be even

The indication of morning had approached; wind halted while the air became temperate. Morning routine of the birds, fetching food for their children, communicating with the others, hatching their eggs. Newly seeded grass shooted out, growing like weeds. The air reminded Mary of a camping trip when she was younger in Yosemite Park. Pinecones and trees gave her the happy memories, ones of her husband and her only child before the accident.

Twilight bathed its soft orange glow over the nearby hillside when Henry finally turned away from the tree. The sound of approaching footsteps as they crunched in the brittle, dry grass startled him. He pulled himself to his full height, wiped at his damp eyes; their brilliant green now enhanced by a shadow of red beneath.

His mother had warned of rain. It was in the forecast, she had said in her small, fretting voice. She had urged him to wear his raincoat and to take his umbrella, but he had forgotten the umbrella in the rush of leaving, and how he thought of the five blocks he would have to walk from the Omni station to the Century National Bank, and of the morning crowd that would push against him in its hurried dash through the fine mist of the rain that had begun during the train ride from Decatur.

The fictional novel, Lord of the Flies by William Golding, is a some what violent novel. The amount of violence escalates gradually from the beginning to the end. At first he boys are very mean to piggy, which leads to them killing a pig, which ultimiltly leads to them killing Simon. The theme of the Lord of the Flies is that hatred leads to violence, which ultimately leads to an anarchy of violence. The esculation of violence is very to similar to that of "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson.

The rain drummed against Lumina, she felt each and every single one hit her and she wished she could hit each one back. She had more important things to worry about now. The young girl blocked out the rain and turn to look at her teacher, surely enough her mentor followed her out. Prominence gave her a nod.

Sitting in the green grass with many incredibly large trees within the area, it seemed like a perfect day to lie down and stare at the different shapes of clouds slowly shifting through the sky and birds moving through the distance. The

"Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud; near a scene of wet lawn and storm beat shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamenting blast."

The sound of trickling rain, and the absence of conversation, permeated the air around us, as both Margaret and I remained stagnant in our positions of choice. My eyes took for Margaret before redirecting themselves along the line of sight that was occupied by hers; and it appeared as though the storm we were enduring was progressing north, and stemmed from the direction that lied behind the outskirts of our village. Rotating my body in surveillance of the sky’s coloration behind me, I took note of the impending clarity that would soon take place, as the colors that signified the sunset were meagerly seeping through the clouds. However, on the other hand, as I swiveled back to my original placement and scanned the skies to the north that rested

A few minutes back, preparing to drive to the class, I packed my racket into a bag as well as a water bottle. This peace was abruptly interrupted by an otherworldly thud from the heavens. I rushed to window and frowned and the sight that greeted me, low-lying clouds as gray as dryer lint and the unique drum of a torrent of rain battering the

He set on the soft green grass, which had regrown back, thicker and fuller with apple cords scatter around his bare feet. “Raina,” he yells, tilting his head to see an alluring woman standing before him. His emerald eyes are glistening in the light of the setting

The cloud was blocking the sun, an old shrine that was built deep into the forest, as the fog started to grew thicker each passing minute. Moss continues to grow on the shrine gate and on the staircase that leads to the dilapidated shrine. Little rain drops began to fall on puddles creating a drop sound singling that the droplet has descend. A person whom was staring into the cloudy sky, sitting on a log that was stuck in the water as wind started to blow its way.

The grass was more vibrant than usual. Each individual blade was cut to perfection, none stood out. The white stripes seemed to glow against the fresh, green grass. The black asphalt still felt tepid beneath our feet. The unpigmented lines almost vibrated with the daytime heat that was beating down only an hour before. The shining benches were drenched in all colors of the rainbow. The bodies underneath that rainbow where continuously shifting and swelling like the sea. The anticipation could be seen rolling away from those benches as everyone seemed to take a breath. The lights above casted down a blinding white that left shadows fifty feet long. The brightness only seemed to be turned up as we took our first step onto the grass.

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.