Personal Narrative-Sardines

All the grass had long been scorched brown, and the sands felt like live coals to the feet. Evergreen trees wore a dusty coat of brown.”

She became accustomed to the perception of a desert being portrayed as dull and lifeless (Being raised in Kentucky) until this trip. Throughout this scene, she expresses her fascination for nature, and uses a tone of awe and allurement while describing the attributes about the land with metaphors. This narration occurred following the first rainfall, when Mattie and Taylor decided to go to the desert. This passage which is distinctive of Kingsolver’s portrayal of the natural landscape shows her sudden awareness diverse atmospheres. By linking to the scenery to “the palm of a human hand”, the author uses the literary device of personification with the mountains and the town. Her phrase “resting in its cradle of mountains” associates the basin to a child, and the phrases “city like a palm”and“life lines and heart lines hints a grown-up. The terrain exemplifies a life from the beginning to end. Taylor describes the land my linking each attribute with lots of metaphors, which then confirms that the tone is “wonder and allurement” because it demonstrates that she is emotionally connected to the

In the summer of 1961 our family leaves the familiar suburbs of Portland, Oregon for the unknown wilds of Eastern Oregon. Sandwiched between the east side of the Elkhorn Mountains and a seemingly endless sagebrush desert, this valley, our new home, is a stunning green oasis in the desert and a

Lobstering is in my blood. It is what supports my family and most of my town. I have been doing it my whole life i’ve had a lobster license since i was 8 years old which is as young as you can get one. I love summer just for lobstering season plus I like the money outcome. I hate school starting the most because it tires me out because I play football everyday except sundays and some saturdays so i have to wake up early and haul on my days off from school.

“There were orchards, heavy leafed in their prime, and vineyards with the long green crawlers carpeting the ground between the rows. There were melon patches and grain fields. White houses stood in the greenery, roses growing over them. And the sun was gold and warm.

The weather was either so hot you nor your animals could bear to go on. At times it would get so cold you couldn’t even move your toes. It would rain at times and your wagon wheels would get stuck and you wouldn’t be able to go on any longer. The dust on the trail was sometimes two or three inches deep. Ox shoes had fallen off and their hooves split.

This weekend I will be going up to my granny house and be fishing there. We will try to catch all the fish we can. We will eat lunch and supper there also. We will be fishing on a boat or the dock. We will a three rods to fish with. They will probably be all small fish. We will be swimming and fishing the whole time. When we go there will be my grandpa's brother and sister will be there. We will try to catch crappies and sunfish.

One bright, radiant day as I was getting ready for my family to come over for a crawfish boil. In my mind all my thoughts went to the things my pastor told us that night at the lock in. He told us we only live once so what would you do with the life you have until we have eternal glory.

Through the use of diction, the distinguished author, D. Brown, is able to express how the land he once knew is now an arid and desolate place of death and sadness without the buffalos. Brown writes,“Day after day the sun baked the earth drier and drier, the streams stopped running, great whirlwinds of grasshoppers were flung out of the metallic sky to consume the parched grass.” The author uses both repetition and personification in this passage to emphasize how scarcely dry the land is. The phrases “Day after day” and “drier and drier” epitomize how this awful weather has been droning on for an extensive amount of time. He also gives the grass a human quality of being parched, which provides an image that the land is dry. This use of diction

In the summer of 2015 I took an emergency trip to Mexico, little did I know i’d witness some beautiful jaw dropping landscapes. As I witness my first stop of many I embraced the wonderful sight of Montana Dulce as they called it. Breathtaking red ,orange, yellow and white flowers took over the beginning 2 miles with the fresh scent and nothing but green itchy grass filled the scenery. The sun warming and not blinding but just shiny just enough to not have to squint as we progresses the steep hill. As we progressed it began getting a little rugged. An abundant amount of hard big and small rocks began to take over the steep hill. One more mile on the narrow trails lead to wide paths onces again and moist grass soon took over the scenery. Drizzles

The hot, arid air burned into my soul as millions of needles pricked my delicate skin. Beads of sweat coursed down my face as I turned towards the window facing the barren desert surrounding me. My family and I were on an ever sought vacation to the Grand Canyon, yet we had to drive from New York to Arizona and I radiated impatience throughout the journey. Walls of heat shrouded me as I gasped for air, yet my efforts were fruitless, swallowing nothing but fire. As my lungs collapsed, I looked out the window and into the heart of the looming sun, taunting me from afar. Suddenly, my eyes gave out and sweat and tears engulfed them till they took their true form. A forest blanketed with soft and gleaming snow, blemished by the phrase: “Only 10 more minutes.” However, I was awakened from my revery by a vehement cry as I gazed into the eyes of tattered vultures, of every discrepancy, with an unforgettably shrill voice. “Who dares enter our land!” they screeched dissonantly. Trembling, my eyes flashed over the sun and I was standing in a perpetual desert, with vulture's eyes glued to me. I froze with fear, though the sun baked my skin.

In the novel, The Yellow Birds, Kevin Powers is a master at Keeping our attention on a specific event. He uses long strung sentences to give us a perfect picture of what is going on at one specific moment. In one of the opening chapters the narrator expands on one idea about the topography and landscape, “The war tried to kill us in the spring. As grass greened the plains of Nineveh and the weather warmed, we patrolled the low-slung hills beyond the cities and towns. We moved over them and through the tall grass on faith, kneading paths into the windswept growth like pioneers.

The serpentine road leading to Sinaia twists and arches almost as if strategically constructed to offer the best view of the backcountry. At first, you are met with a picturesque sight of the flatlands, speckled with tiny villages barely made out in the distance. A man, hunched over and wearing a sheepskin on his shoulders for warmth, herds a flock of thousands of woolly sheep to safety. In the next instant, there is nothing but dense vegetation forming a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues of yellow, orange, and red. Deeper into the trail, all other signs of civilization seem to fall away and disappear altogether. The landscape suddenly becomes more desolate, yet rich with a certain peaceful and euphoric sensation.

The howling of the wind brought my eyes to open. Where was I? Focusing in the dark of night, confusion washed over me as I came to realize I was in the desert. Distant landscapes of dry and worn rock surrounded me, and beneath my bare feet I felt the gritty sand caught between my toes. I was surrounded by those rocky hills and yet as I scanned the desolate desert it seemed never ending. The irony of the nighttime desert suddenly set into my body; that ghastly wind moving right through me and chilling my bones to that of splintering ice. The need to move started me forward though, and I felt a sharp ache all over, my body trying to fight against change. Was I lost? My heart began pounding fast in my chest, the blood pumping through my veins

I gazed up at the mountain now drenched in light red and squinted, trying to keep my eyes open, as the bright sharp light burnt into my eyes. Struggling to keep my eyes open, I finally closed them unable to the pain any longer; I wiped my watery eyes and thought where Samneric’s fire was? There was a rumble inside me, and I looked hopefully at the jungle wondering if I could find Samneric’s fire as well as something to eat. In the morning light the jungle seemed like an old and tattered rug chewed to bits by moths, yet despite this the jungle and the whole island was beautiful shining in the sun’s warmth. I kept on walking as the jungle beckoned me calling me with its beauty. As I passed between the trees, the canopy overhead plunged me into velvet darkness. The only source of light was from the small gaps in the shell of overlapping leaves, where the sun glistened through. Moss and lichen covered the ground in abundance, thriving in this humid atmosphere, and feeding on the eerie green light that managed to penetrate through the ceiling of emerald leaves. The strange green shade and the various knotted pillars made it impossible to see for great distances or to walk about freely.