The water had gotten into his shoes, soaking his feet in cool creek water. He reached for his machete to cut down the vines that had fallen from the forests tell trees. They were intertwined making the path through the jungle almost impossible. He had to move fast. His dirty hair onto his forehead as he stepped from rock to rock avoiding the water though he already drenched his boots. Form the books about the harp it was hidden deep in the Amazon. Native people were everywhere around every corner and every rustled branch. He would not give up because of these challenges. He slashed branch by branch while making making his way around the creek where the rapids had gotten too violent to walk. He put his machete away the familiar flick of his …show more content…
The water had gotten muggy, green and brown algae floated in the water turning it from the clear blue-green to a muddy brown. Little pebbles had wiggled their way into his boots making it almost unbearable to walk. He had begun to despair that after a month in the Amazon that he would never find the harp. He began to think of him coming home to his wife empty handed as her fate was locked in and she began to fade away. Her illness had become fatal. By now she may only have another week or two without the harp, and she will die. She will die without him as he searched for a legend, a myth about a stupid harp that might not even be real. Without realizing, he had begun to move faster, not careful of where he may be stepping. Those thoughts he realized were the only thing keeping him going. He had trudged far into the jungle now, the stream barely moving. Looking ahead at the creek he saw that it turned and he could see light. Quite contrasting from the darkness of the tree’s shade, that he was in now. He began to tread through the murky water as fast as his mud filled boots would let him. He turned the corner and the bright light of the blazing sun blinded him …show more content…
The warmth of the rays heating his face . He had closed his eyes reflexively letting the warmth revive him and wash away the sorrow and doubt he had felt before. He opened his eyes slowly and gently as to prolong that wonderful feeling as long as possible. Looking around, he saw the rocks were gleaming and smooth, the creek flowing with crystal clear water, and there it was. The harp. So it’s true he thought, it’s really true. It’s long base and delicate strings glimmered in the sunlight, and the rock it sat on was flat and smooth. A picture out of a fairytale. He moved toward, it treading in the shallow water carefully. He reached tout and touched the smooth golden surface of the harp, the tips of his fingers brushing the strings. A beautiful warm sound sound full of life rang through the jungle. Everything went hushed as though no living thing dared to disturb such a wonderful
After all the experiences Louie went through and the knowledge of knowing he is going to survive through Squalor conditions he felt optimistic. “He felt something alight land on his head it was an albatross slowly Louie raised his hand fingers
He was low on water and could only take tiny sips. He hurt his toe, and the pain was terrible. He cried so hard that he could barely catch his breath. For the first time on his journey, he lagged behind while the group moved farther away. He heard his uncle's voice.
sound of the sea on the sand and the caw of wild birds. He now lives
In “Gwilan’s Harp” by Ursula K. LeGuin, the main character, Gwilan, experienced many tragic losses. Passed down from generations—Gwilan inherited a harp of utter perfection and had a life full of joy, festivals, and music. Everything Gwilan touched turned gold with success, and Gwilan’s music was highly desired at every wedding
In the story “Gwilan’s Harp” by Ursula K. LeGuin there is lots of loss. This story starts off great and happy. By the midpoint Gwilan has gotten into an accident and broken her wrist. She loses her ability to play the one thing in life she adores, the harp. She ends up marrying Torm, the driver in the accident, because of their mutual love of music. She faces another heart break when both of her boys want nothing to do with music. At the end of this sad short story Gwilan’s husband of thirty years dies leaving her alone. “The thirty years began in pain; they passed in peace, contentment. But they did not end there. They ended where they began” (LeGuin). The ending of Gwilan’s life was
The first thing to see, looking away over the water, was a kind of dull line - that was the woods on t'other side; you couldn't make nothing else out; then a pale place in the sky; then more paleness spreading around; then the river softened up away off, and warn't black any more, but gray; you could see little dark spots drifting along ever so far away-trading-scows, and such things; and long black streaks-rafts ... and by and by you could see a streak on the water which you know by the look of the streak that there's a snag there in a swift current which breaks on it and makes that streak look that way; and you see the mist curl up off of the water, and the east reddens up.
Her spry, Timberland-clad foot planted itself upon a jagged boulder, motionless, until her calf muscles tightened and catapulted her small frame into the next stride. Then Sara's dance continued, her feet playing effortlessly with the difficult terrain. As her foot lifted from the ground, compressed mint-colored lichen would spring back into position, only to be crushed by my immense boot, struggling to step where hers had been. My eyes fixated on the forest floor, as fallen trees, swollen roots, and unsteady rocks posed constant threats for my exhausted body. Without glancing up I knew what was ahead: the same dense, impenetrable green that had surrounded us for hours. My throat prickled with unfathomable thirst, as my long-empty Nalgene bottle slapped mockingly at my side. Gnarled branches snared at my clothes and tore at my hair, and I blindly hurled myself after Sara. The portage had become a battle, and the ominously darkening sky raised the potential for casualties. Gritting my teeth with gumption, I refused to stop; I would march on until I could no longer stand.
He began to change his thought of the river as if it was trying to hurt him. He started to question different aspects of life, as feeling sorrow for things that wasn’t as bad as what he had just
For a few brief and peaceful moments all that could be heard was the ill water gently tapping against the sides of t...
Before long, the hat was soaked. It washed down a stream that had formed and fell into the river. It floated down, passing animals hiding in holes, and plants basking in the rain. “Hey look!” A girl said, picking the hat out of the stream.
As we started to slowly drift down the river, seemingly inch by inch, I began to have feelings of disappointment. I had been planning on a more hazardous and fast-paced ride. The water was crystal clear and almost as flat as a sheet of glass. There was only a very mild current and being as impatient as I was, it appeared to me that we weren’t even moving.
Walking, there is no end in sight: stranded on a narrow country road for all eternity. It is almost dark now. The clouds having moved in secretively. When did that happen? I am so far away from all that is familiar. The trees are groaning against the wind’s fury: when did the wind start blowing? Have I been walking for so long that time hysterically slipped away! The leaves are rustling about swirling through the air like discarded post-it notes smashing, slapping against the trees and blacktop, “splat-snap”. Where did the sun go? It gave the impression only an instant ago, or had it been longer; that it was going to be a still and peaceful sunny day; has panic from hunger and walking so long finally crept in? Waking up this morning, had I been warned of the impending day, the highs and lows that I would soon face, and the unexpected twist of fate that awaited me, I would have stayed in bed.
And so with fair skies and following winds they sailed south, further south than they had ever been before. They sailed for seven days and seven nights, and on the morning of the eighth day, at the break of dawn, they saw land. It wasn't much, a small strip of land, but with two tall mountains and some trees, Jack knew it was the place. As the ship drew nearer, he began to see the island better, and he could see the beach. The sand was smooth, and white. It was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen in all of his years. Jack could see now that there were more than a few trees here. There was a thick tropical forest stretching from one mountain to the other. And the mountains were sending up small wisps of smoke. As the ship drew nearer, it hit him.
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
I could tell he was smiling. The cool breeze bore with it the intoxicating fragrance of wild flowers and made the boat sway in its harmony. I lay on my back, closed my eyes and listened. The ripples that formed on the water, the little waves that swept against the oars, his breaths, my heartbeat -- I listened, for that was all I could do.