The tulips were the same as I remembered a long time ago; a dark purple like the night sky, and I used to enjoy looking at them, but over time I got tired of it. The air stings my nose, but this isn’t an uncommon thing, I never was much of an outdoor person anyways. I look at my house and notice the bricks that he laid up halfway the wall, and the columns he was so proud of making all those years ago. I look at all this and it makes me sad in a way, for all the good times I’ve had in the past; I know those days will never come back. The wind picks up getting stronger, meanwhile the grass plays gently with the blades moving back and forth along with the trees as if it was a symphony of some
Living across the street from my Papa Gene, I found myself spending every summer day in his humongous- or so my eight year old self thought- pool, treating myself. I was always the kid that thought my grandparents were a God-sent gift to me and I was the luckiest girl in the world. I can still recall the the taste of the orange creamsicle popsicles my grandma would place in a cup outside and let melt before I drank them because she knew that was my favorite way to eat them. I definitely spent the sweetest of summers at that small house with the huge pool. While many childhood memories were made at my grandparent’s house, the one picture that will burn in my head until the end of time will be the one
A red brick house on top of a small hill is where my memories reside. A slightly curved gravel road led to the front of the house. Eight or nine rose brown apple trees randomly covered the plush green lawn. Down the small hill, muddy brown water trickled down a ditch with cattails surrounding it. One enormous willow tree sat in the background, to the right of the house, to complete the picture. It almost seemed like a picture from a postcard. But when
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the wind kicked up a little made the leaves ruffle and the branches shake. I heard a bird every once in a while chirping away. the weather cleared up and the wind died down. the squirrel ran across the lawn with his acorn and the college students pointing and awing in amaze that it was so close. the sun coming out and shining with a nice quiet breeze to make it a perfect day to do your work and live life outside for the day. the smell of the freshly cut grass from the gardener this morning who mowed it. the pine tree smelling swirling in the wind to catch a glimpse of it every here and there. there are so many cool and amazingly beautiful things in nature with so many ways to describe them. the details I used to describe this last paragraph would not be the details I would have use if you had told me to sit out side and write out what I felt. using my senses make me able to put a lot more detail and thought into my writing and make the experience real for the
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For a moment, I was transported back to my grandmother’s house in Small Town, Tennessee. I could smell the fresh Earth and hear all of the different livestock, fowl and outside dogs that guarded the animals, just as they did the house, from any predators. I recalled being a little girl dancing like no one watched, dreaming up inventions,
The house that used to be in the middle of the country with miles of land and nobody to be seen or heard. It was the house I used to see every Friday. It had a gravel driveway a mile long, grass cut perfectly, and the smell of fresh air all around. There was a massive tree in the front yard that was the size of a skyscraper that the kids used to play on. Then you would see the cute brown house on the hill. It was as the house that seemed so big when I was a kid, but the bigger I got, the smaller the house seemed to become. My Grandma’s house was like going to a museum, because it always had things to look at and explore.
Each year, right about the time when flowers opened up their blooms for the first time after the winter,
It’s a big field of tall wild grass. By the time i get there the sun is low enough that the rays shine along the very tips of the blades. You can see all of the fuzzy particles floating around in the wind and i imagine each one is its own universe, as vast and as big as the one i'm in. There is a stillness that makes everything seem okay, not that anything isn't okay it’s just better there. I still get that embrace in the grass , although it is much dryer than the tropics, i could never figure out why. I prefer going alone, or with my grandpa. Once i tried bringing one of my friends when i was around 10 but the only thing she could talk about was her favorite colored pencil. From then on i realized two things: one,sometimes people don't appreciate things the way they should ,and two, if you don't want to get bummed out just leave Autumn Yeller at the edge of the
As I sit here, on the hood of my car looking out into the vast field I think to myself, why this place? Out of all the places that mean so much to me, why does this place stand out the most? Everyone has that one spot that is special to him or her for various reasons whether it be a memory, experience, how it makes them feel, etc. For me, my favorite place encompasses all my senses bringing them to an all time high filling me with an overwhelming indescribable feeling. It’s my sanctuary, a safe place, but above all a place to clear my mind and getaway from reality. There aren’t enough captivating words to describe the beauty of this place. In the winter, the vast field covered in a blanket of untouched glimmering snow surrounded by bare
Some of my favorite precious moments happened in grandmas kitchen each and every time we visit. Whether it was just eating some of her delicious cookies or dancing, talking, or watching the windows. The atmosphere all around grandmas house was filled with lots of sweetness joy and peace inside and out. The smell of sweet cookies over home cooked meals covering flung over the table. Fresh cold drinks like grandma got it straight from the sky. There was lemonade, milk, and coffee smelling like she hand made them with the ripest lemons, milk straight from the cow and coffee fresh from the beans. Only grandma could make it smell like that.
As hard as I can remember the, the backyard had always been the setting of my childhood. I recall the time a pregnant cat moved into the logs and made home. She had a bunch of babies. I can also recall the tree house my dad had built in the middle of the yard and also the pumpkin that naturally sprung to life. This backyard was really something else.
A ways away from a town that I call home, I found a happy place. I often find myself walking through the park by myself. The beautiful trees, the way the yellow and red leaves crumple under my feet every step I take. When the flowers bloom and how it's the most spectacular sight you could ever imagine seeing, all the different colors that appear. When you breathe in and you get this smell of purity, you feel free and alive. Sometimes I like to sit on the old wooden bench where the bench frame is a little rusted, and I get rid of my thoughts and my eyes search the sky. In the winter the icy breeze makes me shiver, and the cold air I take in, is like sitting in front of an air conditioner and breathing in. Some mornings the sun beams across the sky, which is not quite blue yet, but the sun has almost fully risen. When the wind blows, it grazes over the blades of grass. Some days I just stand and take a deep breath in and I can taste the spring. When summer comes around, and the bees are buzzing, and the hot sun beats on the back of my neck, I lay on the soft grass and listen, to the birds chirping a beautiful song, and the kids playing in the park. The sky is the bluest view in sight.