It started off with a light drizzle that the weather forecast did not predict, then evolved into a heavy thunderous storm. The clouds were gray; the sky was gray, everything pointing toward a long night of excessive precipitation. “Game postponed ‘till further notice,” declared the coach. The team grunted, and went their own way trying to locate their parents on the bleachers. It was a bittersweet moment knowing that they would have to continue the baseball game later.
It was the September of 1985 in Massapequa Park, located in Long Island, New York. A few days prior, Tropical Storm Henri had rolled through, causing some precipitation but otherwise being no cause for alarm. My father had only moved back in with my grandmother just the summer before, after some academic struggles hit him hard. The weather forecast predicted to unimpressed listeners- my father, my grandmother, and my uncle- that the next storm coming would be “pretty bad.”
It was finally fall break. I was visiting my grandma for a few days. Well past dinnertime, I pulled up to the white stately home in northern rural Iowa. I parked my car, unloaded my bag and pillow, and crunched through the leaves to the front porch. The porch was just how I had seen it last; to the right, a small iron table and chairs, along with an old antique brass pole lamp, and on the left, a flowered glider that I have spent many a summer afternoon on, swaying back and forth, just thinking.
Autumn leaves covered the streets on that september night due to a prompt fall. Having gone to bed earlier in preparation to be able to wake up for Marching Band in the morning I was nearly comatosed in sleep. It’s odd to try to recall something that your mind just does not want to resurface, it causes everything to be an act of self delusion. It felt like how in the movies everyone is sped up and moving while I was slow and just still as they passed. Dressed in powder pink pajama shorts with penguins on them, I debated whether or not to put sweat pants on or if I should take anything. I underestimated the power of a cool autumn night breeze greatly. Awoken by a rugged shake from my brother, Chris, I couldn’t be made to move until my mom’s
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
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.
...t, I always assumed that rain was simply a type of weather. To me, the word rain was used as a clarification to help viewers understand. However, rain is so much more than just a clarification on the weather channel. Rain is associated with several emotions ranging from cleansing to depression, love to anger, and life to death. Sometimes I wonder if life would be better without rain; there wouldn’t be as many natural disasters or frequent reminders of depression. But then I imagine not being able to feel renewal and love, or see the effects rain has on life; suddenly, I realize that the positive effects of rain far outweigh the negatives. As you see the majestic rain gracefully floating down, recognize the simple beauty and importance in rain. Uncover those feelings you’ve been burying within you for so long; expose the emotions you’ve been hiding and feel free.
It is a sunny morning. I am home with my stepfather and brothers. The clouds seem perfectly shaped as they swivel in the sky. The birds whistle a tune no morning has heard and the trees dance as the breeze whips. I am stuck indoors, and I am missing what seems to be the perfect day. My brother is leaving to head to basketball camp. My other brother is heading to work. Today was going to be a day with just my stepdad and me. He prepares breakfast for me, and the smell captivates my senses. I stop staring out the window and head to the bathroom and then to the table to eat. This is the perfect day.
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 gargantuan 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 morning together
My dad and sister watched television, my mom crocheted, and I worked on my Kinderbuch for German class. As usual, everyone but me fell asleep. At 10:30, we packed all of our things into the back of the Tahoe and pulled around to he front to return the keys.