Rotation-Personal Narrative

In the Tomson Highway’s novel, Kiss of the Fur Queen, the opening passage transports the reader to the harsh, cold, and intense struggle of the caribou hunter, Abraham Okimasis during a championship huskie sled race. Any race often proves to be physically and mentally exhausting for a person, especially like Okimasis who feels he has so much to lose if he doesn’t win. Tomson Highway utilizes a variety of literary devices to dramatize Okimasis’ physical and emotional experience through his last leg of the race by creating a powerful, aggressive atmosphere through the effective use of descriptive imagery, passionate diction, repetition of words, and a tone of desperation. To begin with, the author utilizes descriptive vivid imagery to

My first APPE rotation was pediatrics in Cleveland Clinic. Before starting the rotation, I was scared but excited to have experience in Cleveland Clinics, since it is one of the biggest hospitals in the country. I was worried because I had no knowledge about pediatrics. Also, the first day of the rotation was a day after the final, so I was in a rush mode.

The lake darkens as the ominous clouds race across the sky, as black as the devil’s soul, and swallows the bliss-blue complexion of the sky faster than you can blink. The world has abruptly become cellar-dark and the heavens above look to collapse down upon me. A deafening wind runs over the landscape like a thousand horses, the noise of the raindrops their clattering hoofs. The threatening force of the gales knocks and blows the trees in precarious ways, almost as though, if it had wanted to, the wind could blow them away as if they were but feathers, not heavy pines. Lighting lights up the sky like liquid, golden ore streaks being forged into forks up above. Wriggling and writhing with the pain of their own existence. Flashing once, twice, three times, polished and glossy like the cold prongs of the apocalypse. Shaking myself from my weather-caused trance, I hurry for shelter under a nearby fern tree. Staring deep into the blackness of the storm I wonder whether I will ever see that bliss-blue appearance

As the light of the sun began to weaken, my thoughts began to disperse. The grey clouds of a storm blew in from the horizon. It began to rain big fat drops that fell so slowly I could count them. It was a cool rain, but the air was still warm. I watched people grabbing their things and jogging off the beach. Even my dad who was devoted to his fishing had begun to pack up his rods and bait.

“Beautiful names,” said Joan. “All three of them.” She reached out and touched Perceval’s jaw with care. “You’ve experienced such a terrible loss, but you’re not bitter. In fact, you seem like a good soul.”

Over the town of Ledwin, in the middle of a particularly hot July, the sky flickered while the waning moon hung in its tent. It was not the stars that shined deep across the cosmos, or the flames of a meteorite breaking through Earth's attenuated barrier. No, the very sky itself became bright, shining as if the sun was antagonized into a fearsome rage, then dark, as if it were subdued by a much more terrifying presence. It was like some sort of anomalous, uncanny light switch was being pushed, flipping the sun on, then off. On, then off. Alternating between levels of such extremity that it was a miracle the air itself didn’t catch fire and then freeze over, for it was not temperature that changed, only

It was a bleak summer’s evening with the shadows deepening on a path that ambled down between bitternut hickory trees and then cut sideways across a field of tiny green grapevines. There was a wind beginning, small gusts that rattled the fence posts and set the dandelions dancing in unison on the broad expanse of lawn. Rain spotted our shirts and glistened on our nylon backpacks.

“Your father was unfortunately born to the wrong century,” he sighed. “A good man, but the sins of his father fell to him in war. He was a good...friend.”

I was sitting by a tide pool, watching the sun begin to slip beneath the ocean's horizon. Smooth waters, sparsely dotted by sailing boats, returning to their homes, the winds carried itself out to sea, bringing with it the reassuring scent of hearth fires. My short hair would blow into my eyes, and I would struggle to keep strands of deep brown from blocking my vision of the soft

During my first semester of Ballet I, I realized that there were things I needed to quickly correct such as, rotating my hips while having my leg extended out in a la seconde and landing in plié after doing small jumps across the floor and during petite allegro. After meeting with Professor Watkins she also informed me that I need to move from where I kept standing at the barre so that I could work harder at giving full energy. In that case, I quickly fixed that issue and every class I would stand at a different spot. Doing this allowed me to actually focus on tighten my footwork. Rotating my hips was an issue that I dealt with all through the semester. Before this issue was brought to my attention, I would worry more about letting my leg développé

She reached the town square as the sun started setting and plopped down on a creaky bench by the city hall. A crowd of picketers stood closeby at the building’s entrance, but she slowly tuned them out. She laid her head back on the bench and stared idly at the clouds floating by. Clouds separate and scatter all

It was cool outside as I quickly gathered my things, and silently shut the green wooden door behind me. The wind was fierce, and threatening like a bear ready to attack its prey. I trudged through the thick mounds of leaves that once fell from the bare branches above. The woods was very light this time of year from all of the papery leaves being gone. The sky was a mass of gray gloomy clouds. I thought that if it rained and my dad would want to turn back so I could say that the weather wasn't pleasant

She had been walking for quite some time when she noticed it had gotten significantly darker outside than when she left. She wondered if a storm was coming and if she should head home in case the storm was a bad one but decided to keep going since she was almost to town. She could almost taste the rain in the air as she went further.

It was a gloomy morning in June, I woke up to rain starting to patter against the corrugated iron awning. I let out a sigh and heaved myself up to sit on the edge of the bed so i didn't fall back asleep, "Another great day of rain" i mumbled to myself still emerging from my sleeping state. Not aware or prepared for the upcoming events to come within the next short hours.

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.