signify my safety‚ and a green fence is my brick wall. When I pull around the corner my view fist goes to the baseball field not the softball field‚ but that’s what makes it so unique and special in its own way. It’s sort of like a home‚ with a fence for a wall and trees for the roof. Different positions on the field‚ like first and third‚ are the rooms of the house. Each one is different and special in its own way. At first glance‚ I know a game was played on this very field not too long ago. The
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Silver Bracelet It was selfish‚ I knew in that moment that it was selfish. My sister‚ Bridgette‚ was only six years old‚ and I took advantage of being only a year older than her. She was oblivious to what I was doing in that moment. We were at the arcade in the middle of July in Stone Harbor‚ NJ. We decided that after we were done playing all the games‚ that we would combine our tickets and split it. After about an hour‚ we came together to add up our tickets. To my surprise‚ she had won more tickets
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beginning of July is where I get to watch my project grow and develop. As soon as the herd sees me stumbling down the hill‚ they race to the gate and acknowledge me with bellers. Many of them fight to the front with their broad shoulders‚ as soon and I step foot in the big open doorway‚ I then smell of fresh bedding and manure fills the air. There are green gates hanging up on the side of the barn to my right and cornstalk bales right in front of me. The first two lots are filled
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Beneath the Ice It was a cold snowy morning on the frozen shores of Lake Superior. I unloaded all of my ice fishing supplies from my truck and back my ATV out of the trailer. The ice was at least a foot thick by this time of year according to the people in town more than safe enough for the trip out on the lake. I gassed up my ATV and strapped down all my gear and headed out to my shanty. Trying to navigate in these conditions is very treacherous having only a general idea on the whereabouts of
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Lai Xu Per. 10 2-4-03 A House to Remember I have moved in and out of many houses throughout the years‚ but none of them were as important to me as the house in which I grew up. I must admit that this house‚ although enormous‚ was neither the nicest nor the most comfortable house‚ yet my nostalgic nature has propelled me to treasure that house above all others. Having parted it for almost ten years‚ some details of the house are out of my grasp. The memory of the house now stands as a symbol of
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Ms. Simmerman Jan. 22‚ 2015 My Second Home I wake up to the sound of laughter downstairs‚ and the smell of fresh hot biscuits in the oven. I sit up drowsily in bed; the sun is shining through the window‚ making little patterns of light on my sheets. I rise‚ feeling the coolness of the wood floor against my feet as they touch the ground. I walk to the closet and grab my faded old jeans; I slip them on‚ buttoning the snap in one fluid movement. I pull open the top drawer‚ grabbing a soft cotton
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magnificent world that I live in‚ to experiment it‚ to see what’s on the other side of it. In my prospection‚ Haiti is a nice country beautiful with interesting historical facts. I see beauty in what I know is called Haiti today. As I stepped outside my porch‚ like any other day‚ to attend my morning quite-time. This day wasn’t just like others. I was so peaceful and quite. I saw the sun’s rays in my eye‚ lighting my way step by step. It shined so bright‚ it burned my eye. I saw the beautiful green
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English 3 P.5 1/5/14 The Walden Project Introduction: Every day I find myself walking into my kitchen and looking out of the stunning window view which allows me to see the skyline and an abundance of beautiful vegetation. The natural thing that I will be observing is the portion of the sky that is viewable from the window in my kitchen. I am ecstatic to begin this project because although I look through that window every day‚ I have never found the time to actually examine and appreciate the beauty
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Annie Normile 11/22/14 College Writing I Professor Liddle Exploring Authentic Experiences The ground beneath the stiff leaves is frozen. The cold‚ brisk air invades my lungs‚ I exhale‚ my breath visible. I step over fallen branches and get tugged on by thorny vines. The untrailed path I forge to the top of this mountain is steep and difficult‚ but worth the work to be a new explorer on the fresh‚ dewridden ground of this lonely mountain on this brisk morning
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leaving the valley during the torrid summer months. You see I never really had an actual vacation‚ since my father had been gone for eight long‚ dreadful years. He was sent away to a prison thousands of miles away‚ in Florida‚ when I was only six years old. My loving mother talked about ancient vacations we took‚ but I was too young to remember. My father was back home and he was as healthy as a young doctor. It was now summer of 2010‚ and I was ready for a family vacation. A ride to Rio Frio River
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