Everyday, it seemed I and June always sat by the lustered dark river, for hours staring at nothing but the clouds in the sky roll by and the sun setting at the horizon, disappearing behind the tall pointed mountains. It was always so beautiful, peaceful, and enlightning. My parents died. I was six years old. They died, because of me. We got in a reasonable argument about Clifford the Big Red Dog, of all things. I stormed out of the house at 8:00 pm. I remember how glistening the stars were that night, how the colors of purple and dark blue collided in the sky and how the moon was full and shined with what seemed like a never-ending light. I just kept running, laughing like the obnoxious six year I was. They ran after me calling …show more content…
After the accident, they both decided to homeschool me, due to my traumatizing behavior. They kept insisting for me to draw a picture, read, or play with other kids. They even suggested are neighbor June. I simply denied them and shaked my head back and forth, signifying my answer, no. I often spent most of my time in my purple speckled four walled room, glaring out my glistening glass window. Outside my grandparents house was a beautiful array of water, a river. Through my window, I could only catch a glimpse of the river, but it was something. I ran out of the house, my grandparents watching me. They smiled as I walked towards the river and both sat on the small narrow table and chair, sitting on our front porch. I sat on the musty dark dirt, laying by the river and watched the river’s ripples in sync with the wind. I watched leaves of the october season slowly float within the waters. Time seemed to stopped. The sound of footsteps emerged behind me, carefully crunching sticks and stones lying on the musty dark earth surface. A boy with pale pasty white skin, dirty blonde hair, and brown eyes sat beside me. He was wearing a long sleeved brown shirt and regular small tacky colored jeans, along with brown stitched shoes. It was June, my nextdoor neighbor. He sat next to me staying silent, staring at nothing but the river. I stared at him baffled by his motives. His head turned, facing me. I
Today, as the rain was tapping on my window, I stared out at the storm clouds casting shadows onto the long green fields of spring. As I was watching as the grass and the leaves in the trees on the horizon sway with the wind, my mind was recalled to a time that I’ve been trying to hide away for a long while now.
We had left at sunrise, and arrived sometime in the afternoon. The sky was darkening and the scene was beautiful, you could hardly see through the dense forest as the new leaves swayed in the wind. Me and my family had decided to go to the river which was very close to the campsite. We were all alone.
The clearing was quiet, it seemed lifeless. The Salinas River still flowed merrily near the hillside. The water was still warm from the afternoon sun, and still reflected a green hue. On one side of the river, the smooth foothill slopes still curved up to the strong and rocky Gabilan Mountains, and the other side was still lined with trees. The willows and sycamore branches still swung gently in the wind, and the leaves still created a green light within the space. It was totally calm and peaceful… but something was wrong. The air seemed heavier, and the sun seemed dimmer. No animals stirred, and everything seemed to be aware of a deep sadness. Nothing moved save for a small group of men standing around an unmoving figure.
Most nights Wenatchee River looked eerily beautiful when the fog rolled over the fiery trees, but that night the mist clung uncomfortably to my skin and skewed the forest around me. I had to rely on the distant sound of chaotic whispers and a faint warm glow ahead of me. The
Rion calmed from his night terror easily, and he and Percival went back to sleep. When morning arrived, Rion shot out of bed with a grin, full of his typical energy. He had no memory of his tears and screaming the previous night, which was just as well; the boy deserved peace after all the heartache he had weathered.
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.
Water, glittering, as the sun throws sparks across the creased, sapphire expanse. Flashes of the lullaby of rising and falling waves through the trees. Golden sands shimmering from across the lake. Our soreness melted as we drove into Windhaven, the group of cabins where our family stays during the weeklong annual family reunion. We got out of the car and breathed in the fresh, lake air laced with nonchalance and the feeling and freedom of summer.
When Ellie arrived the other day it was dark and she was unable to appreciate the beautiful countryside surrounding her. However today, it was spectacular. The imposing mountains in the distance were stunning and the open fields bordered by lofty trees were delightful. Since she isn’t in any hurry to reach town, Ellie pulls over and simply sits and takes it all in. It is relaxing, drawing the tension from her.
The moonlight illuminated a dripping figure that emerged from a shimmering lagoon, as if covered in liquid metals. Glitter rained down from his head as he ruffled his hair, the view of him walking back up the path to us was like a scene from a movie. The moon was the fullest I’d ever seen it, teetering on top of Silver Lake. Summer noise was my favorite thing, the crackling fire a few feet from me, leaves above me whispering to the sky, even the low rumble of
It was a warm, fall afternoon in the peaceful state of Illinois. On my grandparent’s farm, I explored the land as much as I could. The various trails and wooded acres led me to creeks, caves, and historical tunnels. I would drive the four-wheeler to venture out into the landscape. The brisk wind rushes past my cheeks and the smell of birch wood and damp grass would smother nostrils.
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
it was a day like any other with no compelling attributes, except for the gentle breeze that was blowing through the city of Chicago as Anna Ortiz made her way towards the Chicago River. it was a particular gorgeous Wednesday evening in early October, just cool enough to know fall had arrived. The bright green leaves had started to fade as if by magic into Splendid red, yellow and orange shades thus creating a backdrop of tranquility and serenity in the downtown area. Anna walked subdued by the beauty of the city as everyone seemed to rush passed her. She on the other hand slowed her stride trying to enjoy the wonderful evening in the city she loved. it had been a long day at work, and being outdoors was a welcome distraction from the busyness
The looking glass that I stared passionately into reflected youthful spirits with bright little eyes and smile stained lips; four chubby-cheeked faces bursted with liquid sunshine from within just like the shimmers which sauntered across the black surface as if light itself could be blown by the wind. The trees which encompassed the lake stood mute in the summer air, they casted shadows, a soft blanket over the quentiestial lake. Delicate rays of light shone through the coniferous trees and mingled with tall tea trees, reached the marshy edges of the lake then climbed up the mountainous hill. They left one small palm tree standing out. The petite tree lifted his pointy leaves to the sky as if his very presence was enough to beat back the darkness
The area was beautiful, green hills everywhere; the few houses looked like they were put into the lush meadows by a creative behemoth. Although you could not see the ocean, the constant blowing wind carried the salty, fishy smell to your house. The fleecy clouds alternated with the sunshine I a two-day cycle. So we went sightseeing on the cloudy days, on the other, to
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.