Rolling down the window, he loved to smell the clean, crisp air after a summer rain. Looking up, he saw several children crossing the intersection, and waited until he was sure they were safe on the other side. Watching the smiling, energetic boys and girls rushing across the street, he wondered how many of them would grow up without haunting childhood memories, he prayed, “God, please don’t let them experience the pain and horror as I suffered
Thorn bushes and barbed-wire fences, log bridges and hills are major barriers for her. The cornfield she must cross from her initial path to a wagon road is a maze, haunted to her nearsightedness by a ghost that turns out to be a scarecrow. She must also struggle against her tendency to slip into a dream and forget her task, as when she stops for a rest and dreams of a boy offering her a piece of cake. Despite the difficulty of her trip, she clearly enjoys her adventure. She talks happily to the landscape, warning the small animals to stay safely out of her way and showing patience with the thorn bush, which behaves naturally in catching her dress.
All Because of a Love for Honey Imagine you are all alone in the wilderness, your food supply is dwindling and the only thing that stands between you and your favorite treat-- delectable, mouthwatering honey-- are a few bees. This occurred in the novel “The Sign of the Beaver” by Elizabeth George Speare. One morning as an Indian chief silently walked through the woods, he heard a sound of a human. He peered through the bushes and glimpsed a young boy noisily trotting through the forest. The boy paused by a tall tree and began to ascend the tree.
Oz Porter stared down the thickly wooded slope, his gaze fixed on the endless panorama of green. Trees, swaying in the slight breeze. The place had a definite odor, the sweet freshness of pine. He breathed it all in, savoring the familiar tang, the underlying musty aroma of undergrowth and leaf mold. Slowly disintegrating into mulch that would carpet the forest floor and nurture the new growth.
Tai Po Waterfront Park is the place that cheers me up. To me, Tai Po is like the paradise of Hong Kong. There are few but enough malls for the residents, that’s why you won’t hear the noise you always hear in the large malls here. I can still remember the first time I visit the park; walking through the entrance of the park, I can smell the sweet scent of the flower shrubs. They are not really that good smelling compare to the flower perfume or air fresher but you will know that is really the smell of nature.
She was lucky that way. Although we would begin the day grudgingly, hugging our pillows, my dad always had a way of getting us girls to giggle just before we left the house. Trampling through the dew covered lawn, feeling the squish of the cool, wet grass pleasantly underfoot, my dad would hum as we savored our surroundings. We would wave
It is effective because the reader will get creeped out of what the windigo does to the child. For instance, “Mother scolded the food warm and smooth in the pot and called you to eat. But I spoke in the cold trees: New one, I have come for you, child hide and lie still.” (114) This proves the Windigo is a very creepy creature is silent and goes for little children. On the contrary, “I stole you off, a huge thing in my bristling armor. Steam rolled from my wintery arms, each leaf shivered from the bushes we passed until the stood, naked, spread like the cleaned spines of fish.” (115) This is obviously a big change because the mysterious creature has the child away with him.
In the novel Wild Cat Falling, the protagonist remains unnamed, showing his lacking of identity, which heavily contributes to his sense of security. He feels disconnected from those around him, particularly in the aspect of race. He is aboriginal, and in the time when the novel was set, their race was heavily discriminated against. The protagonist feels no real connection to anywhere outside of prison, and this is the reason that he welcomed the feeling prison gave him. His sense of security within the prison walls played a large role in
The cool, upland air, flooding through the everlasting branches of the lively tree, as it casts a vague shadow onto the grasses ' fine green. Fresh sunlight penetrates through the branches of the tree, illuminating perfect spheres of water upon its green wands. My numb and almost transparent feet are blanketed by the sweetness of the scene, as the sunlight paints my lips red, my hair ebony, and my eyes honey-like. The noon sunlight acts as a HD camera, telling no lies, in the world in which shadows of truth are the harshest, revealing every flaw in the sight, like a toddler carrying his very first camera, taking pictures of whatever he sees. My head looks down at the sight of my cold and lifeless feet, before making its way up to the reaching arms of an infatuating tree, glowing brightly virescent at the edges of the trunk, inviting a soothing, tingling sensation to my soul.
Every citizen displays a carefree, lighthearted attitude. The city seems like it never had to encounter any deeper of a problem than a kitten getting stuck in a tree. While the two main characters in the movie are eventually able to transform it into a more accurate depiction of real life, it was previously happy, and content with never thinking too deep into anything. Pleasantville is an idealized version of the “American Dream” many Americans yearned to live in during the 1950’s. With its white picket fences, neatly trimmed lawns, and overall “cleanliness” of the society, it presents a utopian world to the people residing