Fernwood Descriptive Writing

Walking into the cemetery, I noticed that the night shined brighter than the day and the music was more alive than ever. I could hear the song, “Puno de Tierra” by Ramon Ayala, playing in the background and there were many families gathered around the graves of their loved ones. I could smell the fresh copal burning into the air and I noticed that my uncles tumba (tomb) looked cleaner than any other day. His grave was decorated with marigolds, candy skulls, pan de muertos, and white candles along with a few of his favorite foods and a portrait of him placed in the middle for everyone to see. Then, I suddenly open my eyes to see myself sitting down on a sofa from our living room, and in the background I heard my grandmother continuously repeating

Remaining on the gravel road, passing the first curb with a big old pine tree on the left. The sudden calmness takes over my body, as I approach her gravestone feeling her presence. The smell of fresh, crisp pine trees in your nasal cavities. The smell is much stronger this morning from the rain storm the night before and so relaxing like the smell of a little tree air freshener. I approach to her gravestone, as the summer morning warmth hugs me tightly and the morning breeze runs through my long black hair. The chorus of birds flocking in the blue sky. As I walk up the little hill to her gravestone, I pass the baby boy that lays beside her. His old, dirty gray gravestone in a heart shape with his name engraved in between a ribbon. His bright,

Nestled snuggly into the Blue Ridge Mountains was Ridgecrest, North Carolina. Getting there was no joke seeing as the ears popped every five minutes, but the scenery was beautiful.

I have only been at Marist for a few days, but the many experiences I have had here made me realize how fortunate I am to be a part of this community. One of my favorite parts of being at Marist, at least while the weather is nice, is walking to class. The view of the Hudson River with the hills in the background and the train sometimes passing by is like a scene from a painting. It is such an enormous difference from what I have been used to my whole life. Gone are the days of having four minutes to walk between classes trying to push between tons of people in cramped hallways. At Marist, there are lots of students outside walking to class, jogging, driving, or biking. I really like the freedom of the campus where everyone is doing their own thing. It sometimes feels like walking through Central Park.

It is the year 2032 and I am a profile-writer for GQ. This particular year is monumental because it marks the 75th year of GQ‘s publication and my editor, Jim Nelson, plans to do it big for the entire world to see — literally. To mark the occasion, the magazine is featuring the 75 most stylish men of the past 75 years.

A cool, fall, light, Oklahoma breeze blows through the trees. The sound of rustling leaves, and the cheerful chatter of my friends, fills my ears. My rainbow colored hoodie is wrapped around me. People canoeing on the lake call my name, “Graeson!” They say, I smile and wave in their direction. I wonder if they can see me from my spot behind the trees and poles. All of the sudden the person in front of me in line steps up to the ladder.

The only thing constantly in my head over the duration of my deployment was my wife. I may have been fighting for my country, but she’s the only reason why my mind still orders my muscles to strain themselves. Every time I slept, it was like she was actually with me and I could feel her soft touch that was more soothing than the ocean breeze on a ninety degree day back in Oregon. Well, at least when I was mentally able to sleep, which only came about three nights a week. Unlike a large number of the men on base, I hadn’t broken down yet. Not physically, not mentally. What I didn’t know, was that next time I woke up from a dream with my wife, and the next time I jumped up into the cockpit to fly an aircraft, would be the last time I was capable

People that lived in savannah had to evacuate from the horrible hurricane Matthew. So what We did nice in Augusta to help the people was let them stay in our schools so they can have somewhere to stay. We gave them clothes we brought them things they can bath with we gave the someone to lay their heads. We were very helpful we gave them a lot of things to make them feel good. We were very mindful of the way we talk to them and we were very nice.

The wind blows bitterly, chilling me to the very marrow of my bones. I wrap my arms around my body as I walk slowly between the rows of tombstones. Some are crumbled with age, others made of smooth marble that has yet to face the test of time. Most though, are overgrown and unkempt, those who once tended meticulously to these graves now buried beneath the hard packed soil as well.

As my alarm clock yells at me to get up, I turn over in bed and see that it is only 6am. It's a necessity to rise and shine before the crack of dawn on days like these...

The sweetly, disgusting smell of vape juice filled the air and the sight of my new classes burned my eyes, but that wasn't the only problem. My new school was like a college campus, it had three schools about a hundred yards away from each other and the students had to walk between the buildings just to get to some of their classes, but that's only half of it. Being the newest, Plymouth High School was nice, but the problem with this school was that it was designed like a prison, not to mention it also felt like one. The oldest, Salem, definitely showed its age; the school colors were blue and white, but for some reason, the lockers were a nasty yellow with rust spots all over them, so in other words they looked like moldy cheese. Last but

Today was just like any other. Barrett awoke to a bright sunny day. He moved to the edge of the bed and put his feet on the cool hardwood floor. Barrett wiggled his toes and wondered why his feet were so large. Barrett’s body was proportional and his clark hair and eyes left him handsome looking. Barrett brought himself to his feet and walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth before dressing himself. While buttoning the last button on his shirt he walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth before dressing himself. While buttoning the last button on his shirt he walked to his mirror to see the finished look before going his way. The mirror was 5 feet tall and about 2 feet wide. The peeling gold trim accentuated it’s rustic look. Just

On a day when bleak, biting gusts are thrown at me, I yearn a visit to the moderate, amiable Schwendi Huttë at Waterville Valley. The small settlement is an insignificant, little, red shack compared to the large ski mountain but as important to the skiers as the snow itself. Through the fairytale door and to the left is the epicenter for gathering where I find my ski group. There is a lengthy, ostentatious countertop full of homemade pastries, desserts, and soups that stretches along the back wall. I toss my frigid, orange coat and leather gloves onto the cushioned couch and race straight to the food with eagerness. I am greeted by friendly employees and the overwhelming aromas, and prices, of New England clam chowder, nutty cinnamon rolls, and intense chocolate chip brownies.

In my new pajamas I wake, eager to give my presents a shake. My toes tingle with excitement and cold; my enthusiasm cannot be controlled. I sprint up the stairs into the living room hoping that my family will awake soon.

I let the curled shavings fall to the frozen, inky ground, creating a heap of milky white scraps. My blade easily carves through the wood, like a knife going through soft butter. A wolf starts howling in the woods, and distorts my concentration, the blade jams into my finger.