moment‚ and as Nikk stood in the snow she felt a hint of magic as she had when she was a child in Pavek; in Russian. She allowed herself a small‚ stolen moment and leaned her head back to the blackened skeletons of the sleeping trees and brilliant blue skies. Her brown eyes closed‚ and for the first time in a long time her lips pulled up in the smallest of smiles. Nikk loved the snow. She’d been born during winter‚ and though its icy breath could speak death so easily‚ she always felt a kinship. Perhaps
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As soon as I feel the sun’s warmth on my face peeking over from behind the rim of Crater Lake National Park in Oregon‚ I am wide awake. I open my tent to see deep‚ vivid reds and pinks‚ along with bright oranges and yellows and the luminous sun in the middle of nature’s masterpiece. Although it is only around forty degrees this morning‚ I can feel my heart burning with the desire to explore the various park features. It is only my first day at Crater Lake‚ and I can already feel myself beginning
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wildly through the gum leaves‚ kookaburras sang joyful songs. The cattle grazed in the kangaroo grass‚ with the Willy Wagtails feasting on the fleas doing the cattle a favor. Strong smells of the damped ground lingered around; the sun laid low in the sky. The night was setting in to be a cold one; winter had never set in so early as this season. The old horseman laid up against the fallen silky oak. Best horseman anyone had ever seen‚ they said that he was a horse whisperer. He was heading towards the
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CRASH. SCREEECH-BANG! Many protesting and angry yells went up into the pale NYC morning sky‚ caused by what looked like a small‚ red‚ and motorized wagon. It looked like this because that was exactly what it was. This “Motor-wagon” was piloted by a young-ish‚ tall-ish‚ and mostly bald man named Evan Victor Ite-Laught. Anyway‚ the sources of the yells were victims of a small red blur of dents‚ scratches‚ and crashes careening around the corner somewhere around 20 miles/hour too fast. Evan was in a
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Darkness has fallen upon the motionless summer evening in Savannah‚ Georgia. A tree line forming a wall forty feet in height overshadows my powder blue sedan on both sides of the road. The music blares my favorite tunes as I coast the dimly lit road; feeling a gentle breeze from the air conditioner blowing against my anterior. At this very instant‚ all of my concerns have been repressed. Free to move about the city without a care in this world. A streetlamp shining through the tree line briefly interrupts
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Joseph Anton O’Keeffe & Bierstadt: Different Presentations of New England Landscapes Pink Moon Over Water is a Maine landscape painting that was created around 1923 by Georgia O’Keeffe‚ a pioneering American modernist painter (O’Keeffe). Echo Lake‚ Franconia Mountains‚ NH‚ is a landscape of a lake and set of mountains‚ as indicated in the title‚ painted around 1861 by Albert Bierstadt‚ a German American immigrant painter renowned for his love of mountains and romanticized portrayal of Western
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Caitlin Lindsey British Romanticism 12/2/15 Final Assignment Shelley v. Clare The one major difference between Percy Shelley and John Clare as people is the fact that Shelly was an educated man and John Clare did not receive an education from anyone save for himself. As a self-taught man from the countryside‚ Clare definitely has a different style in writing than Shelley. Where Percy Shelley’s style is more complex in detail and filled with metaphors‚ Clare’s is full of simple details and straighter
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Mountain waterfall was painted in the nineteenth century by Charles Dickerson. This painting represents a waterfall located in the Adirondack Mountains in New York. Dickerson used oil paint on top of a canvas to illustrate the picture. I chose this piece of artwork out of the Siena College J. Standish Library because of how realistic it looks. The painting illustrates a scene in nature and if I could see this image in real life‚ I would. I also liked how this waterfall came from the mountains in
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Finding my self within the middle of nowhere‚ I gaze the crystal moon standing with the exception of the coal black sky in the midst of lustrous crystal sparkles. The mist grasped within the air obscuring my vision like peering through a ocean of grey. The glow was dimming‚ producing new dark virtual portrayal patches around me. The wind hastily howled between abnormal branches‚ conveying the scent of rich tree decay. The air is thick‚ clammy with the puff of mouldering of leaves. The constant ticking
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tortured face. “Damn you‚” the figure spat weakly and drew a knife. “I will be rid of you!” Loncast’s breathing stopped as blood filled his lungs‚ a jagged blade in his neck‚ damming the flow. Mouth open and spurting‚ he tilted his face to the morning sky and died standing. As the corpse of Devrun Loncast fell‚ his daughter‚ Theia Loncast‚ awoke in her
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