The Lake
I walked unhasty along the shady paths as I approach the lake the greatness of mother nature becomes clear from a distance the lake is calm and looks like a mirror image as if the sky and lake are one. The vibrant tangerine and rose color streaks embrace the pale blue sky. the warm sun caressing my body, would soon disappear behind the thick green forest across the lake. the summer breeze is filled with the sweet fragrant smell of flowers and rich earth. I close my eyes and take a deep breath my lungs filled with the pure and clean air. I can hear my every breath, I am alone with only my thoughts to keep me company an indescribable feeling to be at the lake, its is a feeling of relaxation, comfort, peace, mixed with happiness
Nature has a powerful way of portraying good vs. bad, which parallels to the same concept intertwined with human nature. In the story “Greasy Lake” by T. Coraghessan Boyle, the author portrays this through the use of a lake by demonstrating its significance and relationship to the characters. At one time, the Greasy Lake was something of beauty and cleanliness, but then came to be the exact opposite. Through his writing, Boyle demonstrates how the setting can be a direct reflection of the characters and the experiences they encounter.
This vacation spot White describes through memories of his boyhood days always seemed to be so wonderful no matter what had gone wrong. White recalls the time when "[his] father rolled over in a canoe" and another time when "[they] all got ringworm" but none of this mattered in the long run, after all, this was the best place on earth. To White the mountain lake is seen as "constant and trustworthy", and on the trip back there with his own son, White wondered if "time would have marred" the appearance of the lake. Thoughts of the time spent there summer after summer continued to revisit White throughout the trip and everything from thunderstorms to the stillness of the water
Dani and I stand in the sun waiting for the “men” to catch up. The view was worth Quill’s whining and navigating through the snow. The breeze catches in the bright green and gold of new Aspen leaves whispering around the lake. The Pine trees scent the air and bask in the sun to steal its warmth from the forest below. The trees are a dark canopy along our path permitting only a few patches of the raised finely mulched trail to a beam or two of sun. Framed like a photo three pencil lead gray peaks rise above a lower sweeping curve of pines. They look close enough to walk over the ridge and touch them. Boulders precariously cling to the side of the mountains. The perfect deep blue early summer sky is the perfect backdrop.
The water was calm, like the morning; both were starting to get ready for the day ahead. The silent water signals that although rough times occurred previously, the new day was a new start for the world. As I went closer to the water, I heard the subtle lapping of the water against the small rocks on the shore. Every sign of nature signals a change in life; no matter how slight, a change is significant. We can learn a lot from nature: whatever happens in the natural world, change comes and starts a new occurrence. I gazed over the water to where the sky met the sea. The body of water seemed to be endless under the clear blue sky. The scope of nature shows endless possibilities. Nature impresses us with the brilliant colors of the sky, the leaves, the water. She keeps us all in our places and warns us when we are careless with her. After all the leaves have fallen from the trees, she will offer us the first snows of the year to coat the earth with a tranquil covering. That will only be after we have recognized the lessons of autumn, the gradual change from warm to cold, rain to snow, summer to winter.
First, White uses imagery throughout his essay to create an effective visual of his experiences at the lake. To start his essay, White reflects on his childhood memories of the lake when he and his family visited every summer: “I remembered clearest of all the early morning, when the lake was cool and motionless, remembered how the bedroom smelled of the lumber it was made of and the wet woods whose scent entered the screen.” This passage enhances
Many people have different perspective of toward time, memory and place. In the short stories from Eiseley, “The Naturalist” and from E.B White, “Once More to the Lake”, both share different attitudes toward time, memory, place. Where, in Eiseley story, has a negative attitude and whereas, E.B. White story has a more positive attitude.
One way to read actively is to read consciously. Ask yourself why or what are you reading. Asking questions while reading “makes you notice more, think harder, and make connections among ideas” (Cohen 3). Questioning the writer’s arguments allows the reader to think of reading as a conversation; the reader responds to the writer. Another way of reading actively is to read with a pencil in hand. Cohen notes that students are afraid that they cannot sell back their marked books. Instead of reading passively and forgetting the contents of the book, it is possible to make marks, or annotate to ensure active reading. Highlighting does not allow one to annotate since it would demonstrate that “you haven’t engaged with your reading so much as prioritized
The sun is beating down on the water with immense heat, bringing its temperature higher and higher every hour. I can see bass jumping left and right from the shore. My father and I decide to launch the boat around mid-day. It takes ten minutes to get the boat uncovered and ready to launch. We finally get the boat in the water and set off to our favorite spots. These spots are usually the stumps in the middle, or the shallow areas near the back of the lake where there is a lot of cover. The dull hum of the electric motor is all the noise you can hear as the boat glides along in the bath water. The wake of the boat and the breeze in the air are the only disturbances on the surface of the water. I feel the sweat drip down the side of my face and the back of my neck turning red as the sun glares at me.
Sitting in the back seat between two towering piles of clothes and snacks we drive up the abandoned streets of Adell. I see vast open fields of corn and dense wooded forest filled with life, along with the occasional, towering grain house. We pull into a dry, dusty, driveway of rock and thriving, overgrown weeds. We come up to an aged log cabin with a massive crab apple tree with its sharp thorns like claws. The ancient weeping willow provides, with is huge sagging arms, shade from the intense rays of the sun. Near the back of the house there is a rotten, wobbly dock slowly rotting in the dark blue, cool water. Near that we store our old rusted canoes, to which the desperate frogs hop for shelter. When I venture out to the water I feel the thick gooey mud squish through my toes and the fish mindlessly try to escape but instead swim into my legs. On the lively river banks I see great blue herring and there attempt to catch a fish for their dinner. They gracefully fly with their beautiful wings arching in the sun to silvery points.
Closer and closer to the calm water, I began sinking deeper in the sand. It was comforting, the silence, tranquility, and warmth of the faint sun. There is a slight breeze, warm, but cold and lonely. I could smell the scent of fish blowing through my hair and body. The sun was still fading, slowly but surely the day was almost over. About half of it is gone now. I could see shades of blue, red, purple, and pinkish-yellow. They were mixed with puffy clouds that lined the beginning of the sky and the end of the water. I noticed the darker shades on the bottom of the lower clouds.
In the warm summer evening, she sits on a rough, ginormous boulder with a small human figure in her arms. Her black jeans and black shoes rubbed against the flat, tan boulder that is as big as the world leaving a red stained mark on her pants. She feels like everything around her is small and quiet as if she is on top of the galaxy. Her adrenaline shoots up, while having the thought of falling off the boulder with her slippery, long shoes. Her hands are sweaty from holding a fragile, baby boy tight in her arms against her body.
With stress on my mind and a cookie in my hand, I headed towards the wooded area behind her home. At the beginning of the trail, there was an old rotting tire swing barely hanging onto a low-hanging branch. The extensive amount of muddy puddles and the surrounding damp grass made me hesitant to follow through with my grandmother’s suggestion; the mountain of homework that waited for me back at home convinced me to continue. Trees towered over me, adding to the existing weight of stress that sat upon my shoulders, as I carefully maneuvered around the biggest puddles, beginning to become frustrated. Today was a terrible day to go for a walk, so why would my grandmother suggest this? Shaking my head in frustration, I pushed forward. The trail was slightly overgrown. Sharp weeds stabbed my sides every few steps, and I nearly tripped over a fallen tree branch. As the creek barely came into view, I could feel the humidity making my hair curly and stick to the sides of my face. After stopping to roll up the ends of my worn blue jeans, I neared the end of the trail. Bright sunlight peeked through the branches and reflected off the water. The sun must have come out from behind a cloud, seeing as it now blinded me as I neared the water. A few minutes passed by before I could clearly see
The water beats at the bank feel gently, and resides carefully to avoid over soaking it. The air is fresh and overwhelming with cool gushes of wind blowing past, provoking the trees to yawn and some times sleep. It was a lovely Valentine day and perfect for a picnic at Lake Lavon.
It’s a beautiful morning, as my group of friends and I wake up, we hear the pounding and the thrashing of the water slamming on the moss covered granite rock, I go down the eroded leaf covered pathway to fetch water just like I would do every morning, the sun had just begun to rise, the mixture of scarlet red, orange, and a bleach-like yellow beaming against the hurried water of the river that led into the waterfall shone like flakes of gold floating on top of the whitening water. The serene environment of the surrounding rocks overlooking the waterfall, the ambience of water clashing against the granite, and the aroma of the white pine filling the forest is an awe inspiring experience to all who dare make their way down the narrow and lengthy
Fortunately, I wake every morning to the most beautiful sun lit house. I sit on my porch sipping coffee, while I drink in an atmosphere that steals my breath away. Rolling hills lay before me that undulate until they crash into golden purple mountains. Oh how they are covered in spectacular fauna, ever blooming foliage, and trees that are heavy with pungent fruit. Green it is always so green here at my house. Here where the air lays heavy and cool on my skin as does the striking rays of the sun upon my cheeks. I know in my soul why I choose to be here every day. Pocketed in all the nooks and crannies of these valleys and hills are stately homes, rich with architecture resplendent. Diversity is the palate here; ...