Personal Narrative-Atlantic Way

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

I have lived in only one location my entire life: Edwardsville, Illinois. A peripheral suburb of St. Louis, it stands as the rare oasis of people in a desert of corn, pinned in its own personal bubble. Due to this blend of time and isolation, I developed a natural familiarity with my hometown. But, throughout my childhood, I longed to break free from the confines of the bubble and venture outward. However, this changed last summer, as I walked through Richards Brickyard, our family heirloom, that my great-grandfather, Benjamin Richards, founded over 120 years ago. I felt these childlike sentiments slip away. The bubble that had surrounded me for so long began to vanish, and the picture that it had been obscuring was slowly revealed.

     Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes- a fresh, green breast of the new

“Two days after we had set sail from the island of the cyclopes, a terrible storm blew my ships off course. The heavy gales swung us back and forth like a pendulum, and the waves nearly tore the ships in two. Like this we suffered for four days before we finally saw a sliver of land. We had arrived at Fídi, wooded island of the snakes. The island was immediately noticed due to the sturdy poplar and fir trees that lined its shore.

April 14th, 2016, 10:00 pm, on board the Norwegian Dawn. Jackson Shloo and his wife were at dinner, at the McDonald's on board. The rest of the restaurants were closed or too crowded at this hour to get a table. After their “meal,” they decided to have the night of their life, party in the club, then at Midnight go to the ship deck and watch the waves. Their kids were in their room on the ship, fast asleep, nothing could wake them up. Jackson didn’t know that he would never see them again, forever. 11:00 pm. Jackson and his wife were at the club, not drinking, but just dancing, nothing seemed different, out of the ordinary, deadly and life changing.

Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch

That was a lot of money, and I didnt want to let Tony down so I got in the car and started to drive. As I drove the road was empty. I had confidence I was not going o get caught. It was a slightly wormer day out witch might have been because the sun was out. I had the windows down and was blaring music just trying to enjoy life when a cop pulls out behind me.

Within a few minutes of leaving Saltburn, we are walking along the cliff-top to Hunt Cliff. The cliff face hereabouts supports colonies of kittiwake, and during the breeding season, you will hear an unmistakable ‘kitti-wa-a-k’ call. Kittiwakes live out at sea feeding on small fish and squid, and they only come ashore to breed. In summer, swathes of wildflowers bathe the cliff top with colour. The coastal grasslands sustain the scarce dyer’s greenweed and three species of orchid, as well as other plants including sea plantain, spiny restharrow and wild carrot.

I still recall the balmy November afternoon, when the sun revealed flights of kestrels in the deep blue sky and made the lens of my camera flare. I knew that day would be wonderful, albeit it was rare for a day spent in the swamplands to be anything but. The photographic opportunities seemed endless and the small white-breasted body of the sandpiper was right within my grasp, or the viewfinder of my camera, at the very least. It was also the day I met a very interesting character by the name of Jim Saddler, composed yet excitable. Wise beyond his years. The moment he arrived on my doorstep, I knew we were two kindred spirits, united in our keen eye for birds. I must admit, I was unsure of what the nature of our relationship would be. The possibility

Retreating, we headed over to the main marsh expanse. This was our proverbial hail mary for the survey, so we concluded to make this an extended, stationary attempt. An unusual, large green pipe extends from the ground in front of the marsh and we half expected to see Mario or Luigi pop out at any moment. We pitched a tent close to the pipe and watched Eastern Kingbirds, Barn Swallows and a Belted Kingfisher command their territory with aerial

Introduction: The Topography of Ireland's by genre is that of "Anthology of texts on topography, history and marvels of the world" composed of multiple stories and was made around the 1200s. Chapter XIX in the book is a story about humans trapped in wolf's bodies while interacting with a priest, which relates with the ideals of the time.

...I was carried on board. I was immediately handled and tossed up to see if I was sound, by some of the crew; and I was now persuaded that I had got into a world of bad spirits, and that they were going to kill me. Their complexions too, differing so much from ours, their long hair, and the language they spoke,

Long ago, when there was no written history, these islands were the home of millions of happy birds; the resort of a hundred times more millions of fishes, sea lions, and other creatures. Here lived innumerable creatures predestined from the creation of the world to lay up a store of wealth for the British farmer, and a store of quite another sort for an immaculate Republican

"There's not much of a story to tell, most of my family and friends never believed my tale of seeing a mythical Scottish creature. My summer vacation started much like the rest, however, that visit I witnessed the unbelievable and an extraordinary event. I'd been walking the shoreline on my search for shells when I saw my first and only Selkie sighting up till the present."

I waded into the lake and began to make my short swim to the Flying Scot sailboat in the distance. The warm wash of the lake water coursed through me as I made my way to the boat. As I pulled myself onto the beautiful boat, I thought about the previous days of wonderful, sunny weather out on the water. I hoisted the jib and the mainsail, put in the rudder, released the center board, and let the light breeze carry me out onto the lake. The sun warmed by skin as the playful waves splashed on board to cool me down. As the afternoon stretched on, several daunting storm clouds began traveling towards me in the distance. As they trudged closer, the air became cooler and the waves evolved from giving me small, occasional splashes to drenching my entire body. With this, the wind picked up and suddenly swung the boom across the boat, knocking me right in the head. I flew off the side of the boat, dropping right into the once accommodating lake water. Terror struck, I immediately shot back to the surface and frantically scanned the surface for my boat. Several yards to my left, I saw it rocking back and forth on the growing waves. I paddled back to the boat, hoisted myself up, and desperately tried catching a strong wind to carry me back to the mooring where I could tie my boat back up. However, with a lack of training in times of unfavorable weather conditions, I remained trapped in the middle of an unskilled sailor’s nightmare. After several hours of frequent shifts,