Visiting a waterfall, especially on a hot sultry day, can be a favorite way to spend a day. You get in your car, drive for miles, then get out and walk the remainder of the way to a waterfall. Civilization has cleared and marked a pathway for you and the many thousands like you who have come to enjoy these named landmarks. Rarely do you get to enjoy the natural beauty of one by just stepping out into your own backyard. Behind my house, barely noticeable, is a trail leading through the woods to a waterfall. The trail is narrow but well worn. Any shrubbery that would have grown has been trampled down and all that is left is a very narrow path, overhung with branches from the trees that mark its sides. As I start down the trail, I begin to feel the trees closing around me until the house can no longer be seen. I follow the trail to where it stops at the creek's edge, approaching quietly so as not to disturb any of the wild creatures that has come to enjoy the cool fresh water. I gently cross over the creek using the stones, which show the wear of several previous crossing, so that I can have full view of the creek and the beauty it possesses. I can hear the rush of the water long before I see the falls. As I sit down on the big gray slate rock that has been warmed by the early morning sun, I begin to gulp in the beauty as a starving man would gulp down food. I start my usual ritual of examining the banks of the creek by gazing down the right side of it first. I notice that the wild azaleas are in full bloom and that the trees have regained all their leaves. They stand tall and majestic as if they are soldiers standing guard. My gaze travels up one of the trees to find two squirrels chattering down at me as if to say "Go away and leave us in peace." Further down starts the gentle bend that takes the remainder of the creek from my view. My gaze shifts to the left side of the bank and there lies an old oak tree that has fallen long ago. It still lies partially upon its stump so that it looks like the shape of an "L".
Stately pines towered over the wandering Little Meadow Creek. The stream was almost dry; many rocks revealed along the bank and rivulet bed. Be that as it may, Conrad Reed, a brazen 12-year-old, chose a Sunday in 1799 that he'd preferably angle in this shallow spot then go to chapel. As the kid sat tight for a nibble, he saw a yellow shake projecting from the water. It was an abnormal shake, dissimilar to the typical quartz and slate he found in the field. He pulled the stone from the stream quaint little innit home.
3. Chapter 1, page 5, #3: “Moving through the soaked, coarse grass I began to examine each one closely, and finally identified the tree I was looking for by means of certain small scars rising along its trunk, and by a limb extending over the river, and another thinner limb growing near it.
Life can bring unexpected events that individuals might not be prepared to confront. This was the case of O’Brien in the story, “On the Rainy River” from the book The Things They Carried. As an author and character O’Brien describes his experiences about the Vietnam War. In the story, he faces the conflict of whether he should or should not go to war after being drafted. He could not imagine how tough fighting must be, without knowing how to fight, and the reason for such a war. In addition, O’Brien is terrified of the idea of leaving his family, friends and everything he loves behind. He decides to run away from his responsibility with the society. However, a feeling of shame and embarrassment makes him go to war. O’Brien considers himself a coward for doing something he does not agree with; on the other hand, thinking about the outcome of his decision makes him a brave man. Therefore, an individual that considers the consequences of his acts is nobler than a war hero.
There are many beautiful places in this wonderful area of Oregon. In fact the whole basin was deemed a National Scenic Area. Besides the whole area there are two others natural areas that are very prominent. Among its many waterfalls Kalamath Falls is by far the most breathtaking. Not only can you enjoy the waterfall its self but also if you look hard enough you can see life happening all around you. If you travel up a lot higher you will see the natural trademark of the Pacific Northwest, Mt. Hood. With its 11,239 feet of beauty, what’s not to love? This amazing mountain is not only a natural area, but an area for recreation as well. From the river bellow to the mountains above the Columbia River Basin has a lot to offer.
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.
Located in the popular Yosemite National Park, Yosemite Falls is the tallest waterfall in California. Every year, mother nature’s breathtaking beauty attracts millions of people from around the world. People hike for three long and fatiguing hours in anticipation of witnessing forceful water rushing down the steep mountain from 2,425 feet above. Last summer, my family and I backpacked through the Yosemite Falls Trail and I came to learn what a truly exhausting experience it is.
There have always been many different trees are found in the forest. Tall ones, round of leaf and with broad branches spread open in welcome. Short ones are found here as well, with thin trunks and wiry limbs they sway in the breeze. A wide variety of foliage in the emerald grove dancing merrily to the whispers of the wind. In this quiet thicket, a different type of tree grows, too. They stand resolute, patient, and ever growing.
The visual surrounding the lake was perceived before the mountains was beautiful and serene. The lavender flowers near the water mirroring the colossal mountains smelled of spring. The sunset illuminated the sky making it purple and orange. The huge rocks were faultless and could be used for sitting and thinking. The warm breeze reassured that springtime was near. The lake was ideal for swimming, it was so clear. The cabins around the lake were perfect for summertime with family and friends. The clouds looked impeccable as they were angled over the mountains, their rectangular shapes resembled fluffy pillows. The snow had almost completely melted off the mountain in the distance. The environment was well needed for break within a busy life.
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.
"Stopping by Woods" The visible sign of the poet's preoccupation is the recurrent image of dark woods and trees. The world of the woods, a world offering perfect quiet and solitude, exists side by side with the realization that there is also another world, a world of people and social obligations. Both worlds have claims on the poet. He stops by woods on this "darkest evening of the year" to watch them "fill up with snow," and lingers so long that his "little horse" shakes his harness bells "to ask if there is some mistake." The poet is put in mind of the "promises" he has to keep, of the miles he still must travel. We are not told, however, that the call of social responsibility proves stronger than the attraction of the woods, which are "lovely" as well as "dark and deep"; the poet and his horse have not moved on at the poem's end. The dichotomy of the poet's obligations both to the woods and to a world of "promises"--the latter filtering like a barely heard echo through the almost hypnotic state induced by the woods and falling snow-is what gives this poem its singular interest.... The artfulness of "Stopping by Woods" consists in the way the two worlds are established and balanced. The poet is aware that the woods by which he is stopping belong to someone in the village; they are owned by the world of men. But at the same time they are his, the poet's woods, too, by virtue of what they mean to him in terms of emotion and private signification.
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
Being invited to a friend’s house the other day, I began to get excited about the journey through the woods to their cabin. The cabin, nestled back in the woods overlooking a pond, is something that you would dream about. There is a winding trail that takes you back in the woods were their cabin sits. The cabin sits on top of a mountain raised up above everything, as if it was sitting on the clouds.
This past June, I was given the opportunity to travel to Canada and see the expansive falls with my own eyes. Perhaps the most amazing aspect of the falls is that they are not in some far away place in the country. They are right smack in the middle of a town, the town of Niagara Falls. As a child, I envisioned the falls as a giant rushing shower of water. However, I could never have imagined the great beauty and breathtaking view the falls offer.
On the edge of a small wood, an ancient tree sat hunched over, the gnarled, old king of a once vast domain that had long ago been turned to pasture. The great, gray knees gripped the hard earth with a solidity of purpose that made it difficult to determine just where the tree began and the soil ended, so strong was the union of the ancient bark and grainy sustenance. Many years had those roots known—years when the dry sands had shriveled the outer branches under a parched sun, years when the waters had risen up, drowning those same sands in the tears of unceasing time.
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; ...