The Old Pond Essay

This movie “On Golden Pond” starts a long-married couple (Norman and Ethel Thayer) arriving to their home in the lake that is called Golden Pond. That moment Mr. Norman shows a memory problem because he could not recognize the pictures of his family or himself. In this movie, you could see how much this couple loved each other with so much respect even though there have very different personality. Mr. Norman always talks about his death and does not want to think of this future and he also have issues socializing with other people. The first signed he got scared when he was sent to pick up some blueberries where he got disoriented in the woods. He came back empty handed but happy to see his wife that comforted him so much

As we started along the trail, I worried about forgotten items and my decision to only bring one extra pair of socks. However, after a while, I became aware of a pair of birds chattering above me and the soft murmur of water trickling down a stream bed. After an hour of walking, the trail starts winding back on itself in a series of switchbacks. The chatter between my family members slows down, as we soon struggled to breathe from exhaustion. Sometimes I was hunched over so far from my load that I would stare at my rubber-toed boots and forget to look up at the majestic trees surrounding me.

One can’t help but to draw links to the aging process when watching the three times Oscar winning movie On Golden Pond. In Mark Rydell's On Golden Pond, we encounter a couple in the middle of dealing with the anxieties and hardship of moving through the latter part of their life cycle. The older actors played by Henry Fonda and Katharine Hepburn demonstrates different levels of activity, age stratification, continuity, and disengagement theory in their lives.

Tranquil gusts kissed my skin; the sweet sensation of a breeze and the rustle of the trees’ leaves sung me a lullaby. As I lie, back to my trampoline and limbs sprawled, my mind would undergo a sort of cleansing, ridding me of my troubles. My home held my childhood; it possessed memories that had accumulated from day one, intertwining and condensing them to forge a place that would bear peace and serenity. I never contemplated departure, even when it was apparent my parents sought for a better place to reside, for no place could replace my home. Alas, my assumptions were proven to be erroneous.

My heart pounded as my feet gradually left the safety of the grounds and began its ascent on a ladder that rattled on every step. Sweat formed in the palms of my hands while my gaze remained transfixed to the ground. In my mind’s eye, I envisioned myself landing with a splat on the ground. This was my first time at White Water, Six Flags. At first, when my cousins invited me to the trip, I presumed that in the worst case scenario, I would face a roller coaster; I can stomach that as long as there were seat

The bell tolls. I stumble downstairs in a drear. I can’t stand it, I can’t stand this heaviness, this heaviness in the air. I could scream. My feet begin to thud, thudding down the stairs. I shove the front doors open. To hell with the repercussions. I run. I run like I have never run before. I let it all drip away. The fog thickens around me, clouding my vision, tripping me up. It’s the fog of me, the fog I’m releasing. My toes sink in the grass, squelching and sinking. I’m light as air now. It’s like I’m painting, but not painting in my head, I’m painting on canvas. I’m building sculptures. I’m shaping sand.

Without a breath of hesitation I make the jump, the leap into the chasm of green maple leaves below. Yes, feeling the air pour through me, gliding through the breeze as though I were a hawk on the hunt, has bequeathed a sense, a feeling I have not felt in quite some time. Even now as I glide onto a high branch in the maple forest, it gets my blood going, in the best way

Watching the water glistening and shining was always so peaceful. Your arms rested upon an old wooden railing, which creaked with every movement. You leaned forward to watch a fish leap out of the water, flying into the air for a moment, before returning to the lake. As you heard the loud creaking of the railing, you tried to lean back, but before you knew it you’d lost your footing and felt yourself plunged into the lake’s depths, a scream escaping your lips before water surrounded you.

I look back down at the waterfall and toss in another rock. I watch the ripples till they fade into nothing, like my problems I come here to forget. I listen to the sounds of the world around me, the breeze in the grass, the bugs in the earth, and the birds in the trees above. I notice little tadpoles darting around in the water below. Their world is so limited and mine so vast, and of all the places I could go for peace and happiness, I chose this spot by the creek.

When reflecting and writing on Eiseley’s essay and the “magical element”, I balk. I think to myself, “What magic?”, and then put pen to page. I dubiously choose a kiddie pool to draw inspiration from, and unexpectedly, inspiration flows into me. As I sit here in this little 10x30 foot backyard, the sky is filled with the flowing gaseous form of water, dark patches of moist earth speckle the yard, the plants soak up their scattered watering, and the leaves of bushes and trees imbue the space with a sense of dampness from their foliage. As my senses tune into the moisture that surrounds me, I fill Braedon’s artificial pond with water. I stare at the shimmering surface, contemplating Eiseley’s narrative, and the little bit of life’s

It was 7:00 am on a summer morning and I was still in a daze after just being woken up. Today was to the day that I was going to see my sister and as soon as I made sure I had everything, I headed out. My sister lived far and instead of wasting gas to drive, I was going to fly. I was on my way to the airport with my mom and grandma and as we got closer, my heart began to race with fear and anticipation. It wasn’t because I was afraid of flying, because I actually loved it. I loved the way fields looked like worn quilts from so high above. However this time was different, because on this trip, my family would not be accompanying me and I would be flying alone.

A lake is no place for a watch. I think it’s unreasonable to request anyone to keep time in such a place. My tan forearm barred no watch; no stripe of pale skin to indicate a childhood subject to the constraints of Tick and Tock. A timeless realm, the lake emancipated the soul and the body, allowing both to mingle with nature. My bare, unpainted toes were always covered with mud from walking the trail around Apache Lake, past the little outhouse, Carp Cove, but not as far as Hodgson’s dusty old cabin. It was difficult to see from the road, and at times I felt nobody ever went there but me. Tall yellowed grasses embraced the water’s rocky edge like a mother’s protective hug. Clumps of Aspen whispered collectively as I built forts in their midst, and Ponderosa tress stood tall and unyielding, looking down at my imaginative creations with approval. The wind and the euphonious lilt of the Meadowlark were ideal companions as I played and watched and wondered.

As we made our way across the park to the ride that I was dreading to go on all I could think about was how tall it is. You could see the ride from anywhere in the park and the park is huge. And it didn’t help that i knew that it went ninety miles per hour. The ride was called Millennium Force. Finally we got to the ride and walked right on. As we rode up the three hundred foot hill and I had the lap bar so tight it hurt my legs and i couldn't move. At the drop, which was more than straight down, was very scary. But it didn’t last as long as I thought it would. The ride was about a minute and a half long, but it was so much fun that it felt like it was thirty seconds. After the ride we walked out and my parents and my aunt and uncle were waiting for us outside of the exit of the ride. We went and saw the pictures of the ride and in my picture I had a huge smile on my

It was on an unplanned July day that my two best friends, Fiona and Matthew had decided to take me skydiving for the first time. As I stepped onto the plane, Fiona gave me a smile. I was then left to myself. I felt droplets of sweat drip down the side of my face, but I disregarded it, in hopes that it was due to the density of the suit, unsuited for a hot summer day such as this. When I walked to my seat and tried to settle myself, however, I realized the main problem wasn't the suit. Soon, the engine roared, giving life to the airplane, and the ground started fleeing. From the side windows I could see the outside landscape moving faster and faster, and finally, disappearing. Butterflies started fluttering in my stomach, giving me a sense of nervousness different from anything I've ever experienced before. I realized then that this experience was more than a daring step into the uncharted...

The temperature grew colder the deeper I went into the forest. The smell of damp earth, pollen, and the musky scent of redwood trees, filled the air. I was peaceful, my mind more silent than it had been in weeks. After about twenty minutes of walking, I came to the crest of one of the larger hills on the trail. It opened up to a field full of tall tan weeds and freshly growing grass. Dotted throughout the field were growths of wild poppies and dandelions. I sat down on a bench at the edge of the field; it was nestled under a few small trees and shaded me from the hot sun. I became completely lost in the emptiness of mind. To be honest, I’m still not sure how long I sat there for. I just zoned out completely, my normally chaotic mind at ease in the ocean of nothingness. I probably would have spent more time like that, had it not been for the