Descriptive Essay On a hot summer day‚ the only good place to go is to the lake. You would go out to the lake to enjoy the water‚ the sun‚ the activities that are happening‚ or just to be with family and friends. When you’re at the lake‚ there are some very distinct smells. The hickey smell of campfire smoke always lets you know that there are marshmallows and hotdogs being roasted. You’ll never want to touch your hair from putting your fingers on the sticky marshmallow‚ to me it’s just crazy
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June 12‚ 2013 Cramer Lakes The Cramer Lakes are nestled six miles up a gentle incline from Redfish Lake in the Sawtooth Wilderness of Idaho. The jagged‚ irregular peaks of the ridges surrounding the lakes form the horizon. Mt Cramer towers over the rest at an elevation of 10‚715 feet‚ the second highest mountain in the range. Each of the three lakes has a short outflow into the next‚ eventually reaching the South fork of the Payette River. The drainage from the upper lake tumbles over a twenty
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Descriptive writing on satis house As I approached Satis house inside of my carriage I could feel the nerves growing inside of me. I got close to the rusted gates and stopped I had to get out and walk up to the old withered gates. I felt my feet stick to the ground and I found it quite hard to breath. The sounds around me was getting very load like I was standing next to a roaring plane even know I was getting further away I could hear the crows in the background and the snorting horses. When
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Descriptive Writing- Brodie Dashwood Rocking from side to side‚ I ran away from every problem I had in my life that was suffocating me. Now part of this included when I had to risk my life in need for that freedom I had been craving. My journey began 20 years ago‚ 5 whole years before I was locked down in the world’s highest security prison. I was ordered to the place that I considered hell on earth contained by a wall the height of a sky scraper drenched in high voltage barbed wire. Still to this
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imaginable‚ canoe‚ kayak‚ row boat‚ paddle boat‚ and on. Smiling‚ warm water ripples as my toes dip in; my feet are greeted with the tickle of the small fish swimming right at the edge of the dock. Through the years‚ the swim to the raft on Sugar Maple Lake becomes shorter and shallower; and once on‚ my cool skin meets scorching wooden planks that have been laid out through the first months of summer. Chilly water is splashed up onto the raft as my grandfather’s boat pulls near‚ tube attached to the back
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Thus‚ comfortably seated with a pen on hand in the warm confines of my bed room‚ I started to pour down my thoughts into writing‚ quietly praying that he will be able to know‚ at least the extent of my emotions… Briefly written in a small parchment‚ I folded the paper into four and noticing how it started to our heavily outside‚ I pulled out my drawer and produced a red folded
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The morning air brought chills across the land. Trees shook and snow flurried about the ground creating the mountain smog. The cold metal of the chair lift endured the morning breeze comfortably‚ while the two on it sat silently tucking themselves away from the frigid air. Puffs of clouds rose from both of their mouths as they breathed in the rejuvenating gusts‚ only to disappear from sight within a few seconds. The quiet breath of the mountain and the groaning of the iron monoliths holding the two
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it was a cold grey day in late September. The weather had metamorphosed overnight‚ when a backing wind brought a granite sky and a mizzling rain with it‚ and although it was now only two fifty-seven in the afternoon the ashen hue of a winter evening seemed to have closed upon the hills‚ cloaking them in mist. It would be dark by five o clock. The air was clammy cold‚ and for all the sealed windows it still penetrated the interior of the carriage. The leather seats felt damp to the hands‚ there must
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welcomed us‚ we were already warming to Iceland. Iceland has the reputation of being a remote country‚ but it’s actually North America’s closest European neighbor‚ located relatively halfway between the U.K. and the U.S. There are many misconceptions about Iceland‚ and surely the name of the country doesn’t help any. Far from freezing or being covered in ice‚ Iceland has a relatively medium climate‚ averaging 60 degrees in the summer and 32 in the winter. We were visiting in April‚ and the temperature
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Absolutely nothing in this known world can break the silence—the room was lifeless. The floorboard painfully cries under the teacher’s fantastic high-heeled shoes; it invades the monastic stillness. Under the scrawls of a madman‚ written in a jet-black marker that has seen the end of its days a long time ago‚ slivers of the once pure whiteboard remains. My eyes dart towards the window as I stare at the barren tree branches; they shiver‚ afraid‚ in the thick cold and velvety air of winter. As my stoic
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