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The importance of making memories
The importance of making memories
The importance of making memories
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A short walk to Meadow Pond: following the stone wall up the dirt road, FOR SALE sign next to an empty house with a clear-cut yard. Struggling to escape the perpetual thoughts that always seem to pull me in – where do we go from here? – a golden smile in the afternoon sunlight – branded to my mind like a red hot iron, trying to dismiss them. Looking up at the road ahead of me, I smile – only thoughts. The cold air hits the skin of my face and I stick my hands in my pockets. Pete, our neighbor, pops out of the bend in the road, walking his old black lab. “No camera today?” he shouts out. “No, just a notebook,” I reply. “Do you have a lot of homework?” he asked concerned. “It’s good work.”
Turning the bend, Meadow Pond can be seen through the trees and the viewable side by the road is brilliantly illuminated by the soft gray light of the day – a refrain from the thoughts that had riddled my head. Remembering the year my parents bought two kayaks – pushing off into the blanket of water lilies, an incredible feeling of euphoria when I was lucky enough to see a blue heron take off into the sky, and sounds of animals bigger than me. Suddenly the black power lines cut the scene into two parts, black lines reflected in the mirror-like pond water, providing electricity, spoiling my view. Looking up to see the cold, black metal cellphone tower piercing through the top of Mt. Kearsarge: trying to remember, without luck, the days when I only saw the Mountain. The mountain my dad had carried me up on his broad shoulders, wanting me to see the top one more time before they would install the cutting-edge technology on the peak. That god damn tower my dad fought so hard to prevent.
Turning away: bush-whack down the slope to the bank of th...
... middle of paper ...
...t to prevent a new house being erected on the spot.
My attention returns to the mirror-like pond, casting perfect reflections on its surface – casting reels with my brothers, the bright sun shining through the pine trees, walking up and down the dirt road with plastic bags, picking up trash, beer cans, lots of beer cans, and Lane guiding us along the pond’s edge in the dead of winter, trudging through snow, looking up to him.
Struck with a strong desire to give back. Meadow Pond had fostered in me a love for the outdoors, and an awareness of how humans can impacted it. The sacredness of this place becomes more clear to me, a place of meditation and reflection, a place to relieve my mind of the thoughts that consume me. Struck with a desire to know more so more can be given back.
Trudging back down dirt path
in the light of the moon –
love brings me back
The drive to cross the Kentucky border had taken hours and hours of strenuous patience to finally arrive in another state. The view was by far country like as hints of cow manure could be smelled far from a distance. We drive through small towns, half the size of our hometown of Glen Ellyn had been the biggest town we've seen if not smaller. The scenery had overwhelmed us, as lumps of Earth from a great distance turned to perfectly molded hills, but as we got closer and closer to our destination the hills no longer were hills anymore, instead the hills had transformed to massive mountains of various sizes. These mountains surrounded our every view as if we had sunken into a great big deep hole of green pastures. Our path of direction was seen, as the trails of our road that had followed for numerous hours ended up winding up the mountainous mountains in a corkscrew dizzy-like matter.
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
Have you noticed that we feel a powerful desire to connect with nature during difficult times? Whether we are injured, depressed or sad our inclination towards nature increases. Patients in hospitals recover faster if they are in a room with a nice view. Why? Because nature is so pure and powerful that can restore our spirits and heal our bodies and minds. The beauty of nature has been praised in art, poetry, writings and films. Naturalists, poets and writers have documented the many benefits of spending time in nature. "Calypso Borealis" by Muir and "I wandered Lonely as a Cloud" by Wordsworth are two great pieces of literature where our hearts are filled with an indescribable emotion. John Muir and William Wordsworth express their relationship
Only the tops of the Gabilan mountains caught the fading sunshine after it had gone from the valley. A water snake slipped along the pool, it's head held up like a little periscope. The reeds jerked slightly in the current. Far off toward the highway a man shouted something, and another man shouted back. The sycamore limbs rustled under a little wind that died immediately.
Jim is an innocent young man, living on the coast of Queensland. In this peaceful town, everybody is happy and at peace with themselves and with nature. The people enjoy the simple pleasures of life - nature, birds, and friendly neighbourly conversations. Their days are filled with peaceful walks in the bush, bird watching and fishing. Jim and his friends especially enjoy the serenity of the sanctuary and the wonders of nature that it holds.
Many of the adventures and memories around the secluded pond in southern Indiana faded away with the summer sun, but the wholesome values passed on to me are immensely more important than any formula will ever be. Through everything that my family has overcome, hardship and triumph, every summer we are able to gather under the pavilion. As we walk away on Sunday evening, we are inspired by the heroic tradition of our family, and also motivated to be as brave and courageous as the family members that came before
I Have Created My Own Walden Pond Thoreau believed in “living deep and sucking all the marrow out of life,” and so he lived on Walden Pond for two years to see how he could simplify in order to live to the fullest. I have created my own “Walden,” a place I could retire to escape the materialism of my society. The place that I created to go where there is no materialism and I can be myself and be who I want to be is a place that’s far away, deep in the woods. This place is a place where anything is possible. All around you, you see nothing but flowers and animals, beautiful green grass and my own little cottage to spend my days in.
The story begins as the boy describes his neighborhood. Immediately feelings of isolation and hopelessness begin to set in. The street that the boy lives on is a dead end, right from the beginning he is trapped. In addition, he feels ignored by the houses on his street. Their brown imperturbable faces make him feel excluded from the decent lives within them. The street becomes a representation of the boy’s self, uninhabited and detached, with the houses personified, and arguably more alive than the residents (Gray). Every detail of his neighborhood seems designed to inflict him with the feeling of isolation. The boy's house, like the street he lives on, is filled with decay. It is suffocating and “musty from being long enclosed.” It is difficult for him to establish any sort of connection to it. Even the history of the house feels unkind. The house's previous tenant, a priest, had died while living there. He “left all his money to institutions and the furniture of the house to his sister (Norton Anthology 2236).” It was as if he was trying to insure the boy's boredom and solitude. The only thing of interest that the boy can find is a bicycle pump, which is rusty and rendered unfit to play with. Even the “wild” garden is gloomy and desolate, containing but a lone apple tree and a few straggling bushes. It is hardly the sort of yard that a young boy would want. Like most boys, he has no voice in choosing where he lives, yet his surroundings have a powerful effect on him.
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
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...
Emily stood next to me, her eyes wandering over the scenery, taking in the low trees, the endless fence that ran along the gravel road, the sound of crickets, and the nasal croak of the woodcock. The sun was setting. It was her first time in Derby, and it truly was beautiful. “Should we be heading back?” Emily stood straddling her bike.
As the two men hiked, they came upon many rugged trails and hills that were difficult to overcome, however they did it together and kept moving on. The view from the trail was beautiful with many places to stop and admire the view, but they couldn’t seem to get above the canopy of the trees to truly take in the whole view. The man that strove to see the beautiful scenery from an unobstructed viewpoint was trying in every way to get above what was around him to see the true beauty of the mountains.
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
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; ...