The night was as clear as the day, darkness never fell on Blessed Island. I peek out my window and look at the never ending fields of orchids. The sun was blazing down in the distance, and it blinded me but I didn’t mind. The tall wild grasses were swaying in the light breeze and it was calm; outside and inside my mind. I felt like I was missing someone. Or maybe I was missing the feeling of someone missing me. But I felt it inside my chest, like an empty hole that needs to be filled. All of a sudden, the grass rustled in a way it never did before and something that looks as if a wild animal was running through the field, I felt determined to find out what had caused such a ruckus. I grabbed my sweater and ran outside, following the tracks …show more content…
What are you doing?!” It was my father thinking there was a burglar or a wild animal stealing his precious plants. Fear trickled down my spine, and I was paralyzed in fear. Before I could run away, a blinding light shines in my eyes, forcing me to squint to make out the shapes on what is going on.
“Eric? What’s going on?” I stutter for an answer and words just spill out of my mouth before I could realize what I was saying.
“This...wild girl, she was cutting up our flowers and trying to steal them and then I caught her and took them away from her.” I glance back at Merle, only to find that her bewildered, and a look of hurt and betrayal in her eyes. Before my father came outside, I quickly whisper to her, “Meet me at the gate of the field on the first day of autumn. Until then, don’t bother coming back. It’s going to be too dangerous.” She gives a quick not before sprinting and disappearing into the
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We hear word that my father realized that I went missing and had a search team looking for me. We decide we need to be more discreet, and we change our location to the beach. The tide of the beach is too strong for anyone to vacation there, so it is basically deserted.
Our life was great, and we were very much in love. Until one day, we woke up and noticed there were footprints in the ground that weren’t ours. Alarmed, we decided to take a walk to see what was going on. Right as we turned a corner, we saw him. My father, equally as shocked as we were.
Merle and I were holding hands, standing about a foot away from the edge of a cliff that fell into the crashing ocean below. “Eric” my father said in a low trembling whisper. “Do you know how much I was worried about you? What are you doing here? What are you doing with that girl? Isn’t she the one I forbidden to see ever
An impulse of affection and guardianship drew Niel up the poplar-bordered road in the early light [. . .] and on to the marsh. The sky was burning with the soft pink and silver of a cloudless summer dawn. The heavy, bowed grasses splashed him to the knees. All over the marsh, snow-on-the-mountain, globed with dew, made cool sheets of silver, and the swamp milk-weed spread its flat, raspberry-coloured clusters. There was an almost religious purity about the fresh morning air, the tender sky, the grass and flowers with the sheen of early dew upon them. There was in all living things something limpid and joyous-like the wet morning call of the birds, flying up through the unstained atmosphere. Out of the saffron east a thin, yellow, wine-like sunshine began to gild the fragrant meadows and the glistening tops of the grove. Neil wondered why he did not often come over like this, to see the day before men and their activities had spoiled it, while the morning star was still unsullied, like a gift handed down from the heroic ages.
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
As we pulled out of my parents driveway, the circumstances seemed very surreal. My entire way of life had been turned upside down with only a few hours consideration. I was very much “at sea” in the ...
Still thinking that my parents are still here I glimpse around to show them my seashell, but I find my parents gone! Hurriedly I tried to scan the crowd for any sign of my parents.I was panicking and scared;I didn’t want to lose them! Not knowing what to do I ran everywhere to find them.
It was a gloomy night, the moon and stars seemed to be hiding away, lurking behind the thick mist that was carried through the marshes, and who could blame them on a night like this. The bitter wind was swiftly blowing, creating tiny water ripples throughout the mire. The air was fresh and clean this night, and all was as silent as could be.
This morning I wake early from the light that creeps underneath my blinds and my bed next to the window. I wake floating on the streams of light, heated, like white wax spilled across the floor, dripping, soft. In bare feet I walk down the stairs, cold on the wood, and find my father in the kitchen, also awake early. Together, we leave the house, the house that my parents built with windows like walls, windows that show the water on either side of the island. We close the door quietly so as not to wake the sleepers. We walk down the pine-needle path, through the arch of trees, the steep wooden steps to the dock nestled in the sea-weed covered rocks. We sit silently on the bench, watch as the fog evaporates from the clear water. The trees and water are a painting in muted colors, silver and grays and greenish blue, hazy white above the trees.
The water curled around his neck like a guillotine and he frantically swung his arms back and forth to keep from drowning. The coolness ran into his mouth and past his throat as if to reach inside of him and firmly drag him into the depths, but his legs kicked out again and again, blasting jets through the water that buoyed him up to gulps of precious air. His hand, searching for something, anything, landed on a hard beam, and he instinctively gripped it tightly. Another hand was secured beside it, and he pulled himself up, heaving all his weight over the side and letting himself collapse on the flat structure that dipped as it absorbed his fall.
Away from the immense sea, white foams from the waves gather gently onto the golden shore. Now, half of a glowing, radiant light looms across the water 's horizon. The sea turns blood-red and darkness creeps up like a thief. The necklace that once reflected its passionate energy of fury moments ago now resembled a mere costume jewellery. Perhaps the loss of the necklace’s elegance and sophistication was the reason to why it was disregarded. Pity the owner did not see the necklace radiating its splendour at its peak. Anyhow, the nightfall creates a sensation of joy and tranquillity in me. Every sight and sound stimulates a sense of composure and serenity; and the effect is heightened by the absence of the noisy bustle of our daily work, only to be exposed to the never-ending music of the waves, and to breathe the fresh air instead of the stale atmosphere of classrooms. It is not easy to describe the effect of this sight; it can only be strangely deciphered in my mind. It is however, a very tangible and distinct emotion, though its allure really depends upon the reality of the world from a further point of view, away from the definite predictabilities of the world, all in which an instant becomes like a translucent drape which almost consents me to catch a glimpse of a ideal and more breath-taking reality. The worldly desires, expectations, worries, schemes, suddenly cease to exist. It is as though all of
It all started on a brisk fall day in late October. The day dawned sunny and crisp, with a light cool breeze. As I drove to Annelise’s house with the sun just above the horizon, the excitement of the adventure waiting before me raced through my veins. When I arrived at Annelise’s house, she was waiting on her door step, with her backpack at her side. She hastily grabbed her pack and dashed to the car.
33 Years in Paradise Insert Clip Art 3 Florida Fall The sun’s still shining bright and hot, You’d never know that Fall is here; The leaves turn amber in some sun-burnt spot, That presages the changing of the year, From blazing, humid, Summer-heated days To the warm and drier ambiance of Fall. Awaiting breathlessly the cooler weather,
Rolling waves gently brushed upon the sand and nipped softly at my toes. I gazed out into the oblivion of blue hue that lay before me. I stared hopefully at sun-filled sky, but I couldn’t help but wonder how I was going to get through the day. Honestly, I never thought in a million years that my daughter and I would be homeless. Oh, how I yearned for our house in the suburbs. A pain wrenched at my heart when I was once reminded again of my beloved husband, Peter. I missed him so much and couldn’t help but ask God why he was taken from us. Living underneath Pier 14 was no life for Emily and me. I had to get us out of here and back on our feet. My stomach moaned angrily. I needed to somehow find food for us, but how? Suddenly, something slimy brushed up against my leg and pierced my thoughts. I jumped back and brushed the residue of sand of my legs. What was that? As my eyes skimmed the water in front of me, I noticed something spinning in the foam of the waves. Curiosity got the best of me and I went over to take a closer look. The object danced in the waves and eventually was coughed out onto the beach. “Emily!” I called to my eight-year-old daughter who was, at that time, infatuated with a seashell that she found earlier that day. “Come here and see this! Mommy found something.” Although I had no idea what that something was and I definitely didn’t know it would change my life forever.
The sun gleamed and the water gently washed the delicate sand. The scenery was full of exuberant colours, despite the superfluous building that looked stripped bare; the island looked as mystical as a fantasy. There were hushing trees with an enchanted aura, and placid harmonies from the tropical birds above. A flashback of her father leaped in her mind. Unable to have access to the rest of her memories, it confused her to have unconsciously landed on a mystical island.
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.
The sun was still below the horizon but the clouds above the mountains were tainted the color of pomegranates. Around me the shadows seemed empty. I tried not to look into the brush as I walked down the driveway. I had stopped before, looking to see the back of the shadows; staring hard, only to have them retreat from my eyes indefinitely. Invisible birds called from within. Their sound followed me down the driveway and onto the road.
A slow red sphere, pulsating with light and energy, rose across the hazy horizon; feeding the once dark and bleak island with colours, sound, and life. It was like an artist’s canvass slowly coming to life, as splashed the surface with colours and hues, and carefully put together his masterpiece. The island suddenly lit up as if someone had suddenly twisted the brightness knob on a television set, and flicked on the volume. The dark and mysterious trees and plants suddenly lit up with radiant joy, and I saw the finer detail of my surroundings in the brightness of the morning sun. As I got up I saw a multitude of ants scurrying about on the dark gnarled root, I gazed deeper into the ants world, staring in fascination at the various dark smudges, running across the root like farmers on a newly ploughed field. The black smudges crawled across the root, sometimes stopping as they came into contact with another ant waved their antennas about in joy to each other, and sometimes picking up a crumb in joy and sprinting back to the colony ecstatic with excitement. The crescendo of sound slowl...