Descriptive Essay Samples 
Appealing-to-the-Senses Description: Let the reader see, smell, hear, taste, and feel what you write in your essay.
The thick, burnt scent of roasted coffee tickled the tip of my nose just seconds before the old, faithful alarm blared a distorted top-forty through its tiny top speaker. Wiping away the grit of last night's sleep, the starch white sunlight blinded me momentarily as I slung my arm like an elephant trunk along the top of the alarm, searching for the snooze button. While stretching hands and feet to the four posts of my bed, my eyes opened after several watery blinks. I crawled out of the comforter, edging awkwardly like a butterfly from a cocoon, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The dusty pebbles on the chilled, wood floor sent ripples spiraling from my ankles to the nape of my neck when my feet hit the floor. Grabbing the apricot, terri-cloth robe, recently bathed in fabric softener and October wind, I knotted it tightly at my waist like a prestigious coat of armor and headed downstairs to battle the morning.
When I was little, I loved visiting my relatives. Although I was a country girl, I didn't have any brothers or sisters that were close to my age, nor did my parents enjoy some of the outdoor events that my extended family did. But my aunts and uncles in Manchester, Tennessee, were always doing something fun, especially my Uncle George. Uncle George loved to laugh and he loved to fish and he loved me.
Uncle George and I would head out before it got light. The trek to the pond was always exciting. The earth smelled fresh and new, promising warmth, and as the birds awoke, they'd tentatively practice the prologues to their songs. We'd walk past the apple trees, and I could smell the sharpness of the rotten fruit that had dropped to the ground. Occasionally, I'd slip on a peel, so I learned to be careful not to run too quickly. We'd walk past the water troughs where the tadpoles were busy wiggling their way to froghood and pick up
The thick, burnt scent of roasted coffee tickled the tip of my nose just seconds before the old, faithful alarm blared a distorted top-forty through its tiny top speaker. Wiping away the grit of last night's sleep, the starch white sunlight blinded me momentarily as I slung my arm like an elephant trunk along the top of the alarm, searching for the snooze button. While stretching hands and feet to the four posts of my bed, my eyes opened after several watery blinks. I crawled out of the comforter, edging awkwardly like a butterfly from a cocoon, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The dusty pebbles on the chilled, wood floor sent ripples spiraling from my ankles to the nape of my neck when my feet hit the floor. Grabbing the apricot, terri-cloth robe, recently bathed in fabric softener and October wind, I knotted it tightly at my waist like a prestigious coat of armor and headed downstairs to battle the morning.
When I was little, I loved visiting my relatives. Although I was a country girl, I didn't have any brothers or sisters that were close to my age, nor did my parents enjoy some of the outdoor events that my extended family did. But my aunts and uncles in Manchester, Tennessee, were always doing something fun, especially my Uncle George. Uncle George loved to laugh and he loved to fish and he loved me.
Uncle George and I would head out before it got light. The trek to the pond was always exciting. The earth smelled fresh and new, promising warmth, and as the birds awoke, they'd tentatively practice the prologues to their songs. We'd walk past the apple trees, and I could smell the sharpness of the rotten fruit that had dropped to the ground. Occasionally, I'd slip on a peel, so I learned to be careful not to run too quickly. We'd walk past the water troughs where the tadpoles were busy wiggling their way to froghood and pick up