Personal Narrative: Cool Blue Water In Ecuador

My toes wiggling in the damp golden sand. The salty air invading my nostrils. Ocean waves are crashing up against the shore and receding back into the deep blue waters. The ultraviolet rays of the sun are heating my pale skin. William and the boys are building a large sandcastle. They cover the gleaming turrets with slimy brown seaweed and pristine white shells. The rolling hills to my right are a dark shade of green, having been healthily watered by the summer showers. Small feathery clouds move steadily through the gleaming blue limitless

Leaning forward from my seat, I looked outside the fingerprint- covered oval. A brown sheet covered the Earth, wrinkled with mountains and torn by patches of snow. Pallid clouds, doing little to color the barren Peruvian landscape, clung to each peak and neglected each valley. However, the faded appearance of the geographical patchwork below us did little to detract from its beauty and intrigue.

As I put away the Lenovo keyboard and mouse, I felt a sudden and urgent sense of exhaustion. In a matter of seconds I fell back onto the couch and entered a trance of sleep. When I woke I realised that I had not really woken up; instead, I was merely lucid in my own dream. As I gazed around my setting I suddenly smelt a sharp fragrance of a barbados lily, it was a very sweet and honey like smell. I saw an endless amount of roystonea regia, which is a fancy word for those very common palm tree-like trees. They were so beautifully decorated in a green hue that was encompassed in a vibrant shine. I felt the what could only be sand underneath me, it was so hot, yet refreshing. I began to walk through the narrow course of trees until I saw an end to the path. Then I saw it, the ocean. It was like every movie I had ever seen. It was so clear due to the salt, and it glistened like a pasture covered

This event developed over the text because there was a girl named claire she wanted to get the girl scout gold award then she met with some officials she wanted to build a basketball court for the homeless kids. Then she had to donate money to get a builder to donate concrete. The she got allot of stuff from her friends donating to her sale and it was a big sale. She raised 1700$ but it still wasn't enough money so she started calling parents and begging for money so she could bilt the basketball court.The project took about 3 weeks and it cost $25000,and the workers she hired now kids can play at there new basketball court and now they can run jump and have fun .She felt good about herself about what she has done to help kids have fun.

Strolling down a beaten dirt trail with green mossy trees on either side. A soft breeze brushes a kiss against my cheek, as it pushes past, earth mixing with sea salt hits my nose. Soon the faint sound of waves kissing the shore, children’s laughter, and seagulls screeching calls to me. Walking along the winding dirt trail until the texture beneath my toes change. The trees part and on either side the trees rise into the air, becoming cliffs as far as my eyes can see. Instead of dirt beneath my feet it has been replaced by sand in between my toes. I walk towards the white cap waves where the water washes up against my ankles excitedly and then pulls back with remorse. Sea mist leaves a moist kiss against my cheeks and then

She walked and her feet became more steady, this land was not the same as the land at her home, it had flowing palm trees sand instead of dirt and bushes with bright red berries, that Juana wanted to eat, she held her hands together so she wouldn't grab one out of starvation, because she knew they were poisonous. The skys were not the same at home, at home it was humid and hot but here the sky was blue and it was a cloudless sky the sun shown down, but wasn't scorching her skin as

With fingers long and elegant, and nails always red, my mother’s hands once held the magic power to soothe my woes. As a child these hands wiped my tears and pulled me close enough to her to smell her motherly scent — a mixture of Nivea lotion and achiote, evidence that she had spent her morning in the kitchen. Years later, these same hands incited my tears.

Every year, a certain event takes place that is just as important to my family and I as Christmas, Thanksgiving, and the Fourth of July. However, most of America doesn’t even know this event exists. A five day festival held the first week in August in a small town along the North Shore. In 2015, this little town in the upper northeast region of Minnesota was named “America’s Coolest Small Town,” by Budget Travel. This small town is known as Grand Marais and is home to around 1,341 people. In the 1930s, Grand Marais was a small village with a primary focus on logging and commercial fishing. Many of the community members in this small village decided to gather together for a shoreline picnic as a way to get to know one another and have a good time. This shoreline picnic is now called Fisherman’s Picnic, and has been a tradition carried on for 86 years. The Grand Marais Lions and Lioness Clubs along with many other community organizations work for months preparing for the 10,000 to 15,000 people in attendance each year. Tourist around the country come to partake in this small community gathering that offers a variety of unique events and great food.

When I first walked on the powder like sand, I knew that I had entered more than just a beach. The bright, blue sky reached down through the glass-like water. The waves came crashing into the shore causing havoc, yet leaving silently as if nothing had ever happened. People of all kinds were walking down and back the shoreline with light hearted smiles

Initially, I was an Ecuadorian girl that had a Christian family, I grew up surrounded by my family and loved ones. My cognitive development was in progress, and I had created fundamental bonds in Ecuador. Provided that my dad is an American citizen and due to his work in America, he could not spend too much time with us in Ecuador, so, my mom, my little brother, and I immigrated to America. After three years of my life, our family reunited, and I became an Ecuadorian-American. Since I was very young, assimilating the changes came to be unnoticed, if it weren’t for the fact that during the next years I spoke Spanish at home and English at school. As a result, my translations of these languages affected my communication, creating slow comprehensive

The ocean strokes land with calm and reassuring hands, lacing water with sand and lifting seashells in its wake. My heart urges me forward, to walk among the peace, to capture the sweet smell of sea salt. My brain reasons with the rest of my body. Turning sharply from the churning water I force my feet to leave the warm imprint they have grown to love

I always took a detour to the coast of the sea since I liked walking alongside the peaceful and secluded shore, the salty breeze running through my hair and grazing my skin. I inhaled the smell of the ocean. This day, in particular, was not too hot or cold, the perfect day to take a mid-night stroll. The salty breeze seemed to grow

The air was cold and windy. The beach was black, with small glossy pebbles, and shells. The shells on the beach where beautiful, shiny, and large bigger than my head. The water was gray with rocks that were big enough to climb on. The rocks held puddles of water with ocean life living in them. Small crabs where running over my feet as I sat on the rocks looking at the wave splash against it. A small trail going off of the beach, going to a

watched as a potato hit my mom in the face. The potato in question was extremely lumpy and dirty as potatoes are when fresh from the earth and had been thrown from the hand of a decrepit indigenous Mayan woman dressed in a bright huipil who sat in her stall at a local street market which had occurred every Saturday for the last five hundred years. My family was soaking in the eclectic mix of colored clothes all around us, the variety of brightly colored strange fruits and vegetables for sale, in front of a white adobe colonial church where since the arrival of the Spaniards in the 1500’s, ancient pagan indigenous religions have mixed with Catholicism in fascinating ways. My mom had done as tourists do: taken pictures in order to somehow bring into our lives a certain reality or memory. The woman wasn’t having any of it; as soon as my mom took her camera out and pointed it in that old Mayan’s direction, the potato was swiftly plucked off of the stack of potatoes on the table and tossed at my mom.

The sound of the emerald green ocean water crashing against the shores filled my ears. Children ran along the shore, smiling from ear to ear while laughing amongst each other clearly enjoying their day. Some people were searching contently for sea shells, that were visible for miles. I looked out at the ocean, it stretched out far into the horizon; as far as my eyes could see. There were jetty’s that were perfectly placed within the ocean. I could smell the salt radiating off of the water. I had been waiting for this moment for a long time; I dashed into the ocean I’d been waiting for for the past