It was a flurry and cold winter day, the kind of day when every breath stings the lungs and every exhale chills the lips. Living in Iowa, I was used to the frigid winter, but this unsuspecting day would forever change Emily Kriz. My mother and I had just entered the frosted glass doors at our local Michaels after having the usual tedious chat about keeping your hands to yourself and looking with our eyes, not our hands. I acted as though I was listening, adding in subtle head nods as I watched each individual snowflake fall crisply onto the ground, as if each had a strict road map to a anticipated location. Upon entering, we saw a winter wonderland. The fragrance of frosted pine wafted through the nipping air that had snuck in from the outdoors and tingled my petite fingers and toes. With every blink of the eye there was something newfangled and wondrous to look at. It had seemed as though Michaels was decorated for a gala, with only the finest and most stunning decorations on display, but with every piece of pristine decor in is precise spot. We browsed the aisles, with each aisle as colorful and exciting as the rest. We were nearing the end of the isles when I saw it, a display of candles that drew my eyes in like no other. My mom had turned her cart down the aisle filled with all the eyeful winter floral pieces, and at this moment I knew it was my time to do what I had been told not to, I needed to reach out and smell one of those candles that had tunneled my vision. I
A warm cocoon of thick afghan blankets is shed exposing my skin to the frigid air. The darkness has painted a black coat of paint over my eyes rendering them useless. Guided by the walls, I descend down my staircase; it creaks beneath my exposed feet. A sliver of light reaches my pupils, awakening them, and leads me closer to the source of illumination, red and green bulbs twinkling on our Christmas tree. My sister, wearing purple sweatpants with a copious amount of holes, is awake and sitting on the lazy boy recliner. My parents, lethargic and coffee in hand, sit down next to my sister. Like an eagle mercycily attacks its prey and wrapping paper is red with snowmen. The Christmas tree is shining brightly. I rip the package open quickly,
Born Lisa Williamson in 1964, Sister Souljah is a hip-hop artist that burst to the forefront of mainstream media in 1992 when she was criticized by then Presidential candidate Bill Clinton for saying “If Black people kill black people every day, why not have a week and kill white people?” Clinton was trying to prove to other Democrats that he did not sympathize with the organization that Souljah was a member of. She basically said Bill Clinton and went on to sign music and publishing contracts. She has become one of the more passionate and articulate voices to emerge speaking for young African Americans in the United States. She has written and published to works: No Disrespect, and
Winterkill is about Emmeline (Em), a young girl who is determined to uncover the truth about her village and herself. Em`s grandmother was wayward and punished by death which left a stain on Em and her family. Anyone with a stain is deemed undesireable and is treated as a second class citizen. Em believs she is wayward becuase of the stain and her curiosity of what is past the village walls.
It was halloween on an icy October day. As soon as I stepped out door 5 I felt a rush of ice cold wind blow over my face, ears, nose and torso. As I forgot a thick sweatshirt, I was only equipped with a paper thin ¼ zip sweatshirt. Roaming up and down the brook I was overwhelmed by water seamlessly flowing through the underpass, autumn leaves rustling in the air, wet and dry patches of earth. I felt the icy air flow in through my nose as I took a breath and observed the water vapor come from my breath. I am frozen. Tightly, I held my my paper as if it was my iPhone over a 10 story bridge and explore the real outdoors.
The early morning air is cool on my skin, but the bright sunshine promises heat by ten am. The sprinklers on the neighbor’s lawn go off, signaling that it is seven o’clock and we need to get moving. I smile as I open the car because today is the last day before winter break, and tomorrow will be baking day. I quickly set the large bag of presents in the trunk of my father’s car, and hurry back into the house to get the cookies and my backpack. Inside the door, I am greeted by a large and heavily decorated Christmas tree. On the mantle sit stocking hooks and a windmill cresh rotates on the coffee table surrounded by pinecones. Passing into the next room, one feels as if they have stepped onto another planet. The chandelier id still draped with
A purple Lenvious traveled on foot in a snowstorm. Green, Leaflike wings with a covering of snow was on her back. Her hands followed by her tail as the tracks would not help her when she needed to get home, due to the fast downfall of the snow. Her pink mane and tail fluff became fluffer to keep her warm, along with her normal body.
Each tiny snowflake that had fallen from the sky that seemed to never end. It started to create so much excitement to play in the snow. Jumping up and down, faster and faster. Everything flashed and the room went black. I started to scream bloody murder, the pain was so intense, and blood had started to drip down my back.
Misty dew covers the entire surface of the field. The yellowing corn stalks stand erect and proud until my grandpas tractor comes to end their growth. Autumn slowly weaves its way in and leaves a stain of brilliant color in its wake. Not everyone enjoys such colors, but when you take a second to step outside your doorstep, and look at all the wonders that surround you, you’d be surprised at how marvelous the world can truly be. To me, Autumn is a time for relishing in the colors. Soaking in the oranges and reds while sitting by a warm fire. It’s a time for remembering that everything does end, but it does not have to end in the dreadful way we think it will. Autumn is a time for the closeness of others to keep out the chill of the morning and the starry-eyed darkness of the night.
"Mom!" "I'm home!" Where is she when you need her, damn it?! "MOM, where the HELL are you?!" I say as I stomp and start to shove all of our nonperishable foods into one of the saddlebags.
Imagine walking outside to a cool winter breeze, the snowflakes melting on your face the second they touch you, that feeling of bouncing in clouds every time you take a step in the snow, the bright red nose that is almost shining as bright as Rudolph’s, or the teary eyes you get the second you step outside as if you had just seen your dog who you haven’t seen since you were five. All of the seasons have their qualities that make them unique. Winter, however, is unquestionably my favorite season of them all.
It has been the coldest weather since 1885. Jem had seen snow before in books but never in real life, unlike Scout, who saw the snow and thought the sky was falling. I honestly think Scout was horrified, just imagine at her age, who hasn't seen snow at all, walking outside to the cold weather and bits of “sky” falling all around you. Jem however, must have loved it, seeing snow in books and now getting to actually experience it. They decide to make a snowman, but since it's Maycomb it didn't snow much, so they had to compromise. Jem used dirt as a substitute for the lack of snow. At first, Scout thought they were making a “nigger snowman” but then Jem told her his idea of making a dirt snowman then putting snow on top of the dirt to make it
It was a cold morning in February.Not to mention it was Valentine's Day. A fresh blanket of snow glistened as the sun rose higher up into the sky. My sister had told me that there was a fresh snow outside, as she was telling me, I slowly got out of bed for breakfast. I remember the smell of warm pancakes hanging around the air. I walked into the kitchen seeing Mom making her fluffy homemade pancakes, Madison asked me if I wanted to play in the snow. I told no because I didn’t like the cold. But after an hour of nagging, I finally caved and told her I would go. I put my oversized coat that made me look like I was a marshmallow. As Madison and I went outside, a gush of freezing cold wind blew into our faces. My eyes immediately started to water to water. It felt like I walked into the world largest freezer. We walked down the snow covered porch then onto the ground. I picked up some of the powdery snow and just looked at it. Looking to see all the individual snowflakes. My sister wanted to make a snow fort and asked if I could get the snow shovel out of the back of the truck. I picked up the shovel looking at it’s sharp blade like edges. Madison had piled all of the snow for her fort. She had threw a snowball at me and I laughed. I bent down to pick up a snowball to throw back at her. When I stood back up, the unexpected had happened. Madison had hit me with the sharp edge of the shovel into my face. I blacked out for a couple of seconds. When I woke back up, I saw the blood
I looked outside and it looked cold so I grabbed my sweatshirt that I had received from my school’s football team. I loved it because it had my name and number on it so I felt proud. I stepped out the door and I was right, it was brisk out with a slight breeze blowing the remaining leaves from the tall trees of our neighborhood. As I walked with my hands tucked deep in my coat pockets, I watched the last leaf of a tall oak tree slowly sway side to side down from its branch. I checked the clock of my phone and saw that it was nearly 9:30 in the morning. The city-wide rummage sale started at 10:00 so I knew I had time before the house started becoming overflowed by people of the community. As I strolled to the end of the street I noticed the house had already set up tables and spread some random items out on them. I noticed an old woman seated in a rocking chair near the end of the tables. She smiled brightly and slightly lifted her fragile hand into the air in a half-hearted wave.
Josef Suk was a Czech composer and violinist. In 1894, Suk composed a piece of his works called A Winter’s Tale Op. 9, which was based on Shakespeare. In the beginning years of his career, he was influenced by Antonin Dvorak, who was Suk’s professor at a music academy called Prague Conservatory. In 1898, Josef Suk ended up marrying Otilie Dvorak, who was the daughter of Antonin Dvorak. Within the happy life they lived together, Otilie was impressed with her father’s and husband’s works of music and she loved to play the piano, but sadly died at a young age. After the death of Otilie, Suk went back to revise A Winter’s Tale, which was later released to the public in May of 1999.