The Sheltering Sky

substantial changes in people. At least that is what Paul Bowles and Cormac McCarthy seem to be saying in the writing of their respective books, The Sheltering Sky and Blood Meridian. Both authors place their characters in difficult locations, dealing with difficult people and expect them to emerge changed, for better or for worse. In The Sheltering Sky, Bowles takes his American trio and places them in the desert lands of the African continent where the wide, dry impossibly desolate terrain takes

presents due to a lack of money this time of year, or most times of the year, settled for something different. Dad took us kids out into the desert one by one and told each of us to pick out a star in the night sky; we could pick out any star we wanted. I remember staring up at the night sky and being totally astonished seeing all of the twinkling stars and lights and then my father crouched down next to me: “Rich city folks, he’d say, lived in fancy apartments, but their air was so polluted they couldn’t

deep within me raised its giant repulsive head. The cacophonous sound of rain flooded my ears, but the wind had since died and it now pendent down in vertical parallel paths like ropes dependent on the sky to support them. For a long, long time, it seemed like forever, I lay there crying, sheltering my slain Scarlet Ibis from the heresy of

One of the most important observations anyone could make while viewing a painting is the artist’s delicate choice and use of colors. In paintings, colors serve two different but equally important purposes. One purpose is to draw attention to the painting, while the other purpose is to display emotions. An artist that understood the importance of color in paintings extremely well was the late talented Vincent Van Gogh. In his painting Café Terrace at Night, Van Gogh incorporates a vast array of colors

of white noise to the cries of seagulls and the crashing of the surf. The trees creak amongst each other gently. The surfs rolling and crashing overwhelms most of the noise and displays the strength of the mighty sea. Rich blue waves reach for the sky and tightly cling to the large slabs of granite that shelter the cove. Heatedly coating everything in damp as it declares its power and domination of the scene. The rise and fall of the waves capitvates the eye, the sun brightly reflecting across the

The sky is alive, rain crashes furiously to the ground. Trees topple, lightning shatters the sky, thunder shakes the ground. Two travelers from two worlds watch the storm only long enough to know it is a monsoon worthy of legends. Ashely had gone camping only this morning under clear skies and tamed weather. She is a lover of the wild, mostly for the quiet. She plans every three or so months to spend a week living off the land. She is young and her skills as a hunter are not yet refined. But you

However, the wheat appears very rigid, they are stiff instead of flexible plants that some of Hunt’s other paintings depict: the bushes in Our English Coasts are fluid, they appears to grow everywhere and the grasses in A converted British Family sheltering a Christian Missionary from the Persecution of the Druids is very flexible, able to blend and tilt any direction. The wheats in Fairlight Downs, for me, are very solid, unable to bend and will break if the sheep wanders near it. However, the farther

The Reading A Woman in Berlin details the experiences of a women during the time when Russia occupied Berlin, Germany. While reading about her experience we are able to understand many things about Russia occupation in Berlin, Germany. Her diary expresses the problems women faced in regards to the Russian soldiers, the affect the war played on the Germans in Berlin, and how the German people dealt with the Russia soldiers. Young women in particular face serious forms of abuse during this time. The

Sofia Calderon 9/20/17 ELA:Writing Microscopic Bullets Rain. That’s the one thing I heard. It was only making the situation worse. It seemed as if the world was grieving as well. The trees really did seem like weeping willows. The sky was as cloudy as my heart, not letting a single ray of light out. The wind sounding like spirits having cries of their own. It was all, just so, depressing. Seeing the situation only made me start a storm of my own. As the tears trickled down my cheek, soon forming

My Hero (Moral Ambiguity) “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” “Amen.” The whole room fixates on Reverend Noah. His hands, so polished so pristine, reflect the light that radiates through the rose tinted glass, gesturing for everyone to take their seats. Papa picks Sophia up and places her on the pew, brushing her hair back behind her ears with his hands. Sophia has always liked papa’s hands. They weren’t too soft but they weren’t coarse either;