Each person running around the city had a specific task, all the jobs and tasks in the desert are usually for keeping the desert the way it is. The sun was slowly setting over the top of the big volcano, which was a chocolate lava cake. Milo, Tock, and Ted all rushed up their to see the sun set, the big volcano was dormant and hasn’t spewed chocolate in decades according to Ted. After a while of trudging up the mushy volcano, they made it to the top.
She knew that she had been eroding Elevated. The Navajo Man slowly began to walk away. He knew it was his fault, that the land had been lighter because he used it’s dirt to make his mountains. “Where are you going? We need to figure out a solution to my problem!”
Donna, Jenny, and I found a campsite to forage from. We had just ran out of gas so we left the car behind and walked. We found 3 old, rusty trailers(This is sensory detail and coordinating adjective) and a shaded porch! We might’ve just found the strand of hope we needed!
Braced across my back were a forty-pound duffle bag and my M-16 rifle that had been my kindred friend throughout the last seventy-two hours. Only six miles separated me from the relief of the relentless September sun. It was black-flag weather, too hot for any kind of outdoor activity, but for the United States Air Force, September 9th, 1999 was an exception to the rule.
Swan Dives Are More Graceful Morning was like death in Montana, most often avoided and never pleasant when it arrived. My skin seemed to freeze to the already frosty nylon of my sleeping bag and all the goose down that lay inside felt clumped together like a flock of frozen geese would if it were stuffed in a nylon sac. The first light of morning crept through the weathered tarp that draped the pole shack. The light then pleasantly began burning “Good Morning” on my retinas, something to this day I have trouble looking past.
There never seems to be an ending and all author one yearns for is that the “receding line of the horizon” will be “gained and passed.” Once again the author is talking about the horizon and the hope it can bring to him. All hope he thought was lost, the prairie’s very flatness left “nothing to the imagination, and cramped its interest.” It was a scene not to be forgotten, but close enough. The authors choice of words here shows that there was no magical prairie, but rather a desert filled with no life.
We parked on a dirt patch in the middle of a small field, the trees surrounding us on all sides. The darkness was thick around us as we climbed out of the car. Looking up at the blinking beacon in the sky, I knew we had arrived. Recent rumors have been circling that hikers who climbs this hill will be stalked by the Shadow Man, the supposed guardian of Butte Mountain. I had never experienced paranormal activity before, and I figured that ‘the Shadow Man’ was just a hoax.
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful" (Bryant 495). Bryant describes the prairies in extreme detail comparing them to various things and stated that man had no part in its creating "Man hath no part in all this glorious work" (Bryant 496). Bryant continues to describe the prairies until as he put it "A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my dream". There we see the power of nature and how it captivated Bryant and made him forget everything else until he realizes "I am in the wilderness alone" (Bryant 498). Here we see how nature and its vast scenery helped not only Emerson, but Bryant express himself through poetry.
Hoppers use of warm colors such as the yellow sunlight contrasted against the cool ones such as the blue skies and water with the distant grey mountains creates the effect that they could be cold even with all this warmth around them they do not have enough of the sunlight. Hopper uses the portrayal of the sunlight to represent the chase for the American dream. Although the intensity of sunlight on their bodies is great they seem to not have enough of. This represents the chase for the American dream and the greed that kicks in when people get a taste of it. Hopper uses emphasis to show that although they seem to occupy the same scene some seem to be living in separate worlds.
The Matters of a Cutting Drone The chill slowly leaked through the pores of my sweatshirt; the sun shined bright, but helped very little to warm my skin. A single breath left a puff of mist as white as snow. Despite that, there was none there were leaves, dying and living as far as the eye could see. A stout 6’1
We were in his urine. Ew! We stayed there for a really long time, because we had nowhere to go, so we remained on the surface. The next day, the sun came out and we evaporated into the clouds.
For a brief moment, miles away from the eyes of god, time itself stood still. And the singing birds went silent in their canopies, and the gentle licks of a passing breeze abated, as if the entire world, save Gatsby, knew. Knew that, like an old timepiece, the gears within the depths of George Wilson’s being had long since begun to fragment, and with the urgency of newfound knowledge, he had only one thought on his mind. Certainly, as he glided towards Gatsby’s mansion—and ultimately, into the foliage that surrounded it— Wilson’s breathing was neither slow nor rapid, nor shallow nor heavy, but rather, it fluctuated with an unrelenting attitude, and trapped between immense grief and rage, he carried himself dangerously with each step.