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An early winter breeze ripped through me, ruffling the sleeves of my jacket and whipping hair into my face. The cold and prediction of snow had driven everyone inside for the day, at least as far around me as I could see; the fog blocked out everything outside a five foot radius. I was at the top of a hill and couldn’t even see the bottom of the road. There were no cars, no people around, only the snowflakes to keep me company, falling softly at first, then whirling around as occasional gusts of wind cut through the valley. Blasts of air pushed heavy piles of snow off tree branches toward the ground, landing silently on top of the existing snowdrifts. I looked back longingly at my car on the other side of the road, itching to run back to it
While Snow Falling on Cedars has a well-rounded cast of characters, demands strong emotional reactions, and radiates the importance of racial equality and fairness, it is not these elements alone that make this tale stand far out from other similar stories. It is through Guterson’s powerful and detailed imagery and settings that this story really comes to life. The words, the way he uses them to create amazing scenes and scenarios in this story, makes visualizing them an effortless and enjoyable task. Streets are given names and surroundings, buildings are given color and history, fields and trees are given height and depth, objects are given textures and smells, and even the weather is given a purpose in the...
He fig-ured that the normal half hour walk home might take as long as two hours in snow this deep. And then there was the wind and the cold to contend with. The wind was blowing across the river and up over the embankment making the snow it carried colder and wetter than the snow blanketing the ground. He would have to use every skill he’d learned, living in these hills, to complete the journey without getting lost, freezing to death, or at the very least ending up with a severe case of frostbite be-fore he made it back to Ruby.
’[16] ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Guterson, David, Snow Falling on Cedars, 1994, pp 367. [2] Ibid. , pp. 107.
“At 12:42 p.m. the air was perfectly calm for about one minute; the next minute the sky was completely overcast by heavy black clouds which, for a few minutes previous, had hung along the western and northwestern horizon, and the wind veered to the west and blew with such violence as to render the position of the observer on the roof unsafe. The air was immediately filled with snow as fine as sifted flour” (Potter). No one expected the blizzard that would soon come rolling over to create some of the unfortunate deaths. Now, the questions are what exactly happened during the storm, how are snowstorms created, and what damages it caused.
The snow floats down from the heavens on to earth painting it glistening white. Just like the named implies whitechapel is covered in a blanket of white snow. Catherine Eddowes walks home then she spots the local newspaper boy “Hey Missus, care for this morning's paper?” “Yes, boy, how many pounds will this be?” ”Just one pound, Missus.” “Thank you, boy,” she throws a coin to the young boy. The boy hides the coin in his hat and scurries off into the shadows of a dark alleyway. Catherine sits down on a bench nearby. One of the articles state that a woman’s body has been found on Bucks Row in Whitechapel. Her throat had been slit twice from left to right, her abdomen mutilated with one deep wound. A chill runs down Catherine's spine, she is not sure if it is from the cold or from the article she just read. She puts down the newspaper and rushes off to her quarters. She takes out a bottle of whiskey when she gets home to calm herself from the stressful day at work and the article she just read. She sits down at the counter taking out a glass to pour the whiskey in she drinks glass after glass. Her hands start to shake rapidly she taps the table repeatedly the melody of her fingernail hitting the wood echos throughout the house like a ticking clock. Tick, tick, tick the sound echos until it finally stops. The whiskey is starting to take effect on her. She feels dizzy. She decides to take her medication to stop the throbbing pain in her head. Catherine makes haste towards the restroom but, upon opening the medicine cabinet she finds that her pill bottle is lacking the pills. Clutching her head and moaning in pain she decides to go to the pharmacy. She walks through the crowd of people swaying side to side through the waves of pedestr...
I stepped out of the chilly November air and into the warmth of my home. The first snowfall of the year had hit early in the morning, and the soft, powdery snow provided entertainment for hours. As I laid my furry mittens and warm hat on the bench to dry, I was immediately greeted with the rich scent of sweet apple pie, pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and the twenty-pound turkey my mother was preparing for our Thanksgiving feast.
The freezing wind had chilled my hand to the bone. Even as I walked into my cabin, I shivered as if there was an invisible man shaking me. My ears, fingers, toes, and noes had turned into a pale purple, only starting to change color once I had made a fire and bundled myself in blankets like ancient Egyptians would do to their deceased Pharaohs. The once powdered snow on my head had solidified into a thin layer of ice. I changed out of the soaking wet clothes I was wearing and put on new dry ones. With each layer I became more excited to go out and start snowboarding. I headed for the lift with my board and my hand. Each step was a struggle with the thick suit of snow gear I was armored in.
the rain was pelting down on my head. My car had just broken down in
He arrived at his first destination after about an hour of hiking. After a short while he figured he had looked over his new found haven enough, he was ready. He started down the grade with a small arsenal, consisting of a shovel, about ten granola bars, two bottles of power-ade, his snowshoes, and what was left in his hydration bladder in his pack. After descending about two hundred feet he came into the clearing he was hoping to find, it was as smooth as silk, twenty inches of fresh powder under his board. Up ahead he say a small but formidable drop off on the mountain, he knew if he was going to escape this with his dignity he was going to have to work some magic, to his success. The drop was approximately eighteen feet, but he was ready for it, he landed perfectly, it was like a dream the poof of snow exploding out from his impact, and the gentle flakes hitting his face. As he continued down the slope he did not realize that his gentle landing had severely weakened the physical structure of the mountain’s blanket, and that any moment he could bring the mass down upon himself at impossible speeds.
The snow that was predicted to be several inches by the end of the weekend quickly piled up to around eight inches by that evening. At times, the snow was falling so heavily you could hardly see the streetlights that glistened like beacons in a sea of snow. With the landscape draped in white, the trees hangi...
As I plodded slowly back to the coach I had time to reflect. There was
see ten metres in any direction but I knew that I had to venture on to
captive by a sheath of frost, as were the glacial branches that scraped at my windows, begging to get in. It is indeed the coldest year I can remember, with winds like barbs that caught and pulled at my skin. People ceaselessly searched for warmth, but my family found that this year, the warmth was searching for us.
I breathed in the misty air of the gracefully falling snow, trembling with nervousness but confident with sheen. It shook, barely, but it seemed disastrous, then again barely though; it was like looking at water drop upon a crystal surface. The snow looked so beautiful, but it was to touch the ground. Everything looks beautiful until it falls down.