The vivid memory of the plains never leaves me. I can return to this place at any moment. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My lungs are filled with the clean and pure air, a welcome change from the thick hazy air of the outside world. I am alone with only my thoughts and emotions to keep me company. The summer breeze, warm upon my face is filled with the sweet smell of the tall billowing grass.
Soft green hills surround me. I am not certain where they begin or where they end. Far into the distance I can see another farmhouse. Only an occasional windmill disrupts the scenery.
Clusters of bright yellow sunflowers are growing amidst the green prairie grass. I pick a sunflower and take pleasure in its sweet fragrance. I pull each soft petal off and toss it into the wind. Puffs of white cotton from a cottonwood tree float slowly past me.
As I walk, the thick blades of green prairie grass tickle my legs. Huge brown grasshoppers jump left and right to escape my path. Except for the occasional chirping of a meadowlark, it is so quiet I feel as though the world exists only here and I am the only person allowed to witness this beautiful portrait of nature.
Minutes turn into hours and the sun begins to sink below the horizon. The sky is splashed with yellow, gold and orange. Crickets begin to sing their evening song. I climb a large hill and when I look down, a small stream beckons me. As I get closer I can hear the bubbling sound as it flows over the rocks beneath surface. I gather some smooth cool rocks from the bottom of the stream as keepsakes. When I look into the grayish blue water, I see a reflection of a small child. I reach down and touch the cold smooth surface and the ripples distort it. When I look down again I see the image of grown woman.
The population of a community is vital to ensure that the needs of that community are met. A greater population allows for a larger vote in a democracy meaning a higher probability of attaining what that population wants. Indigenous communities were left hopeless when European settlers took over and slashed the numbers of their community making it impossible for them to ever overpower the Canadian government. The book “Clearing the Plains” by James Daschuk explains this critical period of time in which the population of Indigenous people dwindled based on the political, economic and ecological circumstances that were evident creating a society where Indigenous people lost their say, however Daschuk fails to mention the effects this population deflation has on society today and the racism that our society has perpetrated on Indigenous people.
There is a serene moment when reading John Muir “A Windstorm in the forests,” that rushed through me. Which can only be described as a rush of emotions that one might face when returning home after traveling for so long. I feel that this response is so far harder to write than I could have imagined it to be because the forest Muir is describing within his story, within the Sierra Nevada is one that I grew up with. The same ones that I spent my summers and winter breaks at, I feel a slight struggle when trying to describe my response because I didn’t realize how much I miss all of that and how many of my memories are surrounded by that forest. Reading Muir story brought back the images of seeing stretches of land covered in an endless amount
It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields bestow a more plentiful harvest, or the vines yield a more luxuriant vintage; but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature. And the same feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also to forget those friends who were so many miles away, and whom I had not seen for so long.
He describes how the sun “bakes” the earth, the grasshoppers “consume the parched grass,” and how the prairies are full of “endless desolation.” The word “bakes” exhibits nature’s hostility to its surrounding lands. The grasshoppers eating the “parched grass” convey how on top of the grass slowly starving and dying, it has to deal with the grasshoppers devouring it as well; which emphasizes nature’s unforgivable attitude towards the land. The words “endless desolation” reveal that the land is nothing but despair, and that it is full of endless agony and suffering. This bleak description expresses a miserable tone that deduces the reader’s mind to believe the landscape is barren and
A familiar sound, yet somehow different. Blinding rays of sun pound on any bare skin that it can find. Out of breath, yet every time a breath is taken it tastes somehow more fresh than those that were taken just hours ago. Water has never tasted as good as it does now. Not a single tree blocks my sight of the vast landscape surrounding. As far as the human eye can register are planes and smaller mountains that seem like nothing compared to Humphrey’s peak; appearing almost as if they could be devoured in a single bite if wanting a light snack. The mountains dissipate into the far land; the decreased visibility makes the far land around me seem like a ghostly
In Jonathan Hull's book Losing Julia the main character, Patrick Delaney, was a complicated man. At the age of 18, while still very much an innocent boy, he was sent to Europe to fight in a bloody and terrible war. This exposure to the worst of humanity changed him in many ways. During the war he made some of the best and closest friends he ever had in his life. He also watched these friends die a gruesome death while he was only a hundred feet away, unable to help or save them. His entire outlook on life changed. Before the war he was hopeful and optimistic. Afterwards, life didn't seem as important. He went home and tried to be normal, but he couldn't. He married, had kids, and returned to an everyday job as an accountant, but something inside him was missing. He left an important part of himself on the battlefield. It wasn't until he met Julia, that he felt alive again. Through her he was able to open his heart and his soul. Her presence helped to heal the wounds that the war had left behind. There was a lot that happened to Patrick, love, war, loss, and regret, that made him the type of 81 year old man that he was.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. ( This description of the scenery is very happy, usually not how one sees the world after hearing devastating news of her husbands death.)
The theme of this book is that the human capacity to adapt to and find happiness in the most difficult circumstances. Each character in the novel shows this in their way. For instance, their family is randomly taken from their home and forced to work but they still remain a close nit family. In addition, they even manage to stick together after being separated for one of their own. These show how even in the darkest time they still manage to find a glimmer of hope and they pursued on.
The Interior Plains is a region in west-central Canada, in the Mountain and Central time zones. It is the fourth largest region of Canada. Majority of the Interior Plains is prairie land with lots of flatlands. The total area of this region is 1, 900, 000 km². Approximately nineteen percent of Canada’s population lives in the Interior Plains region. This region includes certain points of interests and attractions such as city areas like downtown Calgary and natural sightseeing areas like the Rocky Mountains. The majority of the Interior Plains is prairie land, with many trees and grass. Most of this area is wide, open spaces and flat land. Some of the animals living here include deer, wolves, and
This morning I wake early from the light that creeps underneath my blinds and my bed next to the window. I wake floating on the streams of light, heated, like white wax spilled across the floor, dripping, soft. In bare feet I walk down the stairs, cold on the wood, and find my father in the kitchen, also awake early. Together, we leave the house, the house that my parents built with windows like walls, windows that show the water on either side of the island. We close the door quietly so as not to wake the sleepers. We walk down the pine-needle path, through the arch of trees, the steep wooden steps to the dock nestled in the sea-weed covered rocks. We sit silently on the bench, watch as the fog evaporates from the clear water. The trees and water are a painting in muted colors, silver and grays and greenish blue, hazy white above the trees.
We took off down a path covered softly with moss and tiny pink flowers. Off to the side of the path were endless green trees and pants all nestled together to make one beautiful piece of art. After a while, we reached a sparkling, clear brook. It was about twelve feet deep and nearly three feet deep. The path wound right along side the water. Down the brook a ways, we came to a deep water hole where the fish danced in the swirling current. I noticed the brook was beginning to flow a little faster now, and I could hear the steady, rushing noise of the water falling over the cliffs that lied ahead. We walked to the cliff's edge to look over at the crystal clear lagoon that lay below us. The falls dropped about thirty feet down before it met the pool of water below. To the sides of the waterfall were moss-covered rocks, ferns and other green plants, growing from the crevices of the cliffs.
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.
A State Forest & nbsp; Last autumn, while on a trip, I decided to walk through a State Forest. This huge forest enriches the countryside not far from town and was a place where Indians held hunting rights until recently. Little streams, ancient trees, shaded paths, and hidden places are some of the physical attributes that make the State Forest an enchanting place. & nbsp; I wandered leisurely along the shadowy paths, enjoying the peaceful surroundings. With only the songs of birds for company, I felt completely isolated from the crowds and traffic as I walked over the deep carpet of leaves. It had begun to rain a little when I first started my journey.
It’s a beautiful morning, as my group of friends and I wake up, we hear the pounding and the thrashing of the water slamming on the moss covered granite rock, I go down the eroded leaf covered pathway to fetch water just like I would do every morning, the sun had just begun to rise, the mixture of scarlet red, orange, and a bleach-like yellow beaming against the hurried water of the river that led into the waterfall shone like flakes of gold floating on top of the whitening water. The serene environment of the surrounding rocks overlooking the waterfall, the ambience of water clashing against the granite, and the aroma of the white pine filling the forest is an awe inspiring experience to all who dare make their way down the narrow and lengthy
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; ...