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Influences of culture in family
Influences of culture in family
Culture and their influence on family
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The rhythmic laugh of the kookaburra can be heard as the glistening heat from the Australian summer sun shines, baking my skin. Thin trees bow to the command of the cooling breeze as it passes by, carrying with it a faint scent of lavender from the pastures. T’was a typical summer's day here in the outback. I lie in bed, contemplating whether I should get up or not. Lying here, I think of the offer Ned proposed to me earlier. “Help me Aaron” he said. At the time I refused, however I now think to myself, maybe I had made the wrong decision. Lying in bed, I hear a loud bang on the door and a voice from the other side demands “Open up Sherritt, we know you're in there. It’s the Victorian police.” Without hesitation, the door is barged down and
The visual imagery through the descriptive language paints an image of crops starting to grow in the shade and suburban areas. The harsh, unforgiving and dangerous Australian environment is illustrated through Henry Lawson’s short story ‘In a Dry Season’ through descriptive language and visual
The inspector reveals all these involvements, and then disappears. The family discover that he is not a real inspector, and they are not in trouble with the law. They also discover that Eva Smith has not committed suicide. ... ... middle of paper ... ...
The Hawaiian sun beats down on my skin, warming and basking my arms in its radiance. I took a deep breath and detected a sweet, flowery perfume wafting out of a small booth which was completely covered in different beaming colored garlands of all sorts. There were yellow ones, and pink ones, and red ones, and just about every color in the rainbow. I rushed over to the stall and selected a pink, white, and yellow garland that smelled so
The evening sun was disappearing from the valley. A cool breeze rushed through the leaves of the trees as birds danced to the sound of silence. The calm, bright blue Salinas River swayed back and forth, bumping into the grayish rocks. Grass sprouted as they were being fed. The barn was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. No more yelling, no more galloping horses, just the sound of lungs inhaling and exhaling.
A young policeman is called to Annie's house carrying out a search because of Paul's absence. Paul calls for him to save him, but Annie sees this and savagely and brutally murders him. Two other policemen are called to Annie's house about the first missing policeman, and when they leave Paul kills Annie and he is rescued by the police when they return the next day.
As the first rays of the sun peak over the horizon, penetrating the dark, soft light illuminates the mist rising up from the ground, forming an eerie, almost surreal landscape. The ground sparkles, wet with dew, and while walking from the truck to the barn, my riding boots soak it in. The crickets still chirp, only slower now. They know that daytime fast approaches. Sounds, the soft rustling of hooves, a snort, and from far down the aisle a sharp whinny that begs for breakfast, inform me that the crickets are not the only ones preparing for the day.
After 15 minutes, Robert headed out by himself to replenish paintball supplies at a nearby store. Robert told his mother “I love you,” and he left for the store. Later that night, Lurig heard the doorbell, which was strange. Two cops appeared at the door, Lurig remembered thinking one cop won’t be too bad but, two cops can’t be good. When she opened
When Jones was driving to the station, on the other side of town, Aaron Fitzpatrick was releasing his anger out on his punching bag. He cried as he kicked and punched the bag, but this wasn’t helping him. The young Fitzpatrick threw on his shoes and headed out to his vehicle. “I can’t do this anymore.” He muttered. Aaron pulled out of the drive and went to the nearest convenience store.
Prologue – The Lamb The dark procession gathered in the square an hour before dawn. A cloudless sky promised fair weather, but cast down eyes took no notice. Gloomy visitants wore mourning robes blacker than the dark side of the Maiden. We could not depart for the path of the favored until all shared in the pity of our loss. I wasn’t spared any such pity from these milling specters; their eyes boring through me even in the darkness.
The coolness of the breeze on my damp legs keeps me alert, even though I’m hot and tired from walking all day long. The wind blows through the trees, roaring fiercely like a lion. The birds in the trees are an alarm, set to remind me of my surroundings. I inhale deeply
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.
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every
Have you ever been scared for the safety of a complete stranger? Have you changed somebody’s outlook on life just by being a Good Samaritan? Well, I have. It was a late Thursday night and I was in a bad part of town informally known as “The Knob.” I had been at a friend's house when we decided to leave to find somewhere to eat. On the way, my friend got a call from his mom telling him he had to be home. His house wasn’t really out of the way. As I pulled down Belle Avenue, towards his house, another friend of mine shouts out “Hey, pull over that guy just knocked that girl out” I instantly questioned this absurd accusation. “What? You’re joking.” As I turned around I noticed that he certainly wasn’t as I saw a middle-aged lady facedown on the pavement. Without hesitation I parked the car and we all ran over to see what was going on. You could see in the distance a man in an orange hooded jacket fleeing the scene. My friend attempted to wake this lady up. She was out cold. At this point each one of us had no idea what we should do. Obviously, the first thing we should have done was call the police, but let me remind you this was a bad part of town and didn’t know if we would be the next. Tommy, my friend, the nearest house and knocked on the door. A trashy looking man answered the door. After being informed that there was an unconscious lady in front of his house he scurried to her aid. The man then realized it was a good friend of his. Jane was her name. You could sense his anger and concern for this lady. He began to frantically ask questions. Who, what, when, where, why, how and every other sort of interrogation question was thrown our way. We described her assailant and which way he went. Evidently it was her boyfriend. At this ...
It was late summer. The weather was gradually changing to autumn, which was noticeably seen on the leaves that were starting to turn orange. The sun was out, but it wasn’t too hot or too cold outside. In fact, it was actually soothing; the cold wind blowing, paired with the warm sun shining above.
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; ...