George Wing Instructor: Abby Wolford English 101-004W 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
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When I finally arrived at one of the camps later that night‚ I gratefully sat down on a fallen log that had been pushed around the fire and gulped in some much needed air. The camp was just a small clearing off the road. A fire pit sat in the middle with about ten logs around it. There were no tents or signs of shelter aside from a couple of low hanging branches that could provide some protection from a light rain or a particularly bright sun. A thin river ran at the far end of the camp‚ which was
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The crowd started to clap. I started to walk up the bleachers then it all happened. Fast‚ sharp‚ and quick it was. Then I felt it in my cheeks and I started to blush. Next I felt it in my stomach.Those butterflies had come. Everyone trying to look‚ trying to look for the boy who fell behind the bleachers‚ the boy who knocked down the backdrop. It all started at Providence Elementary’s Winter Concert. It took place at Kempsville Middle‚ home of the Chiefs. The classes were getting ready for our songs
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“Bro these guys are huge! We are about to get beat so bad. And look how fast they are.” Austin Blake was usually never intimidated. As the captain of the defense he was generally so stoic you would have thought there was no one he couldn’t beat. His attitude always inspired confidence and tenacity in us. He was our fearless leader. But today it seemed as if his lack of confidence was just a foreshadowing of yet another total mental and physical collapse of a team in the face of Westwood High school
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The Chase My wrists started to ache terribly as I trudged along the hard concrete road. Usually‚ when I took this route home‚ I passed all sorts of strange looking people. Where we lived‚ was an odd place‚ the people there were very friendly‚ but sometimes too friendly‚ getting in the way of your private life‚ asking personal questions that you didn’t really know how to answer. But on this particular night‚ a humid night at that‚ there was absolutely no sound to be heard. Not even the squeal of
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Puffy clouds were floating on the radiant blue sky. The murky‚ sticky air surrounded the peaceful New York. Contaminated ominous smoke belch out from skyscrapers across the river. Rigid cement was about to melt down‚ animals stayed underground and people began sweltering as if they were the farmers below the fierce sun. Smoothly‚ the breeze danced over the resting people sitting on the wooden wall nearby Hudson River. The day was quiet as the grave to a wonder. The clear blue sky contrasted itself
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As a young girl‚ I experienced what at the time I thought was the end of the world. Yes‚ I was a little bit of a drama queen. At the age of eleven‚ and on my way to a ballet recital a woman who was careless pulled under an awning in a non-parking zone in front of The Girls Club. I was running to catch up with my group. I looked left and right and proceeded to walk under the awing to the parking lot across from the building. From the corner of my eye’s I saw a white car pull up in front of me very
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Black Dog is based off of a stream of concious I did in February during one of my many routine walks through a cemetery near my house. It was night time‚ and everything was cold and damp. But the moon made this atmosphere that I just loved that I had to write about it. It should also be noted that it was around valentine’s day and I was thinking about my “perfect” mate (don’t judge me‚ you’ve done that before) This piece is also about on how I would be a “perfect” mate‚ and how I would have to change
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As I wake up lying in my bed doused in sweat from the nightmare I just had‚The same Nightmare that I have every night the last thing I ever saw. The accident. Before the accident I was a normal kid no scars‚ no getting made fun of and certainly wasn’t blind. I didn’t want another day of getting made fun of just because I was different. Still I got out of my sweat drenched bed and got ready for another day of dread. I barely made it to the bus and I sat in the first seat I found with nobody in it
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It’s almost last call. It has reached the point in the night where the sensible members of society have left‚ leaving only the hopeless drunks and a few young couples too lost in trivial conversation to realize the bar is closing soon. That’s a lie. This place doesn’t bring in any sensible people‚ in fact it hardly brings anyone in at all anymore. I like to remember how it used to be—so full of life and genuinely pleasant—and pretend that’s still the way it is. But this bar in particular‚ which I
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