The wind blew lazily over the barren landscape. Orange and brown earth rolled as softly as the dunes they comprised. The ground looked as though the sun had melted the top layer of the earth only to sculpt wax like curves and waves over the entire stretch of sand. The sun was barely above the horizon and already the desert floor was sizzling with heat, excitedly waiting for rain that would not come for many more weeks.
A single trail etched its way across the field. Modest footprints, those of a man with a soft step could be seen for only a few minutes before the sands began to shift and hid any trace of passage. If one were quick enough to follow the trail it would seem as though whoever was making this small intrusion in the sand was heading into the heart of the desert; into almost certain death. A death caused by heat or exhaustion, whichever came first. It would seem that way although this would not be the case.
For the maker of that trail had journeyed this way many times before. So many times in fact, that he need not stop and check for landmarks or to rest until night to find his bearing. He knew where he was headed and that was all he needed. He came to rest at the top of a particularly tall dune at mid day. Unshouldering his pack and bundle, he rifled through his back pocket for a meal that had been packed for him by the kind young lady at the inn from three nights ago. Three nights, he thought to himself. Had it already been that long? That meant his journey was almost over.
When he was full enough he rewrapped what was left of the meal and replaced it in his belt pouch. He stood, stretching his old body and remembered what it was like when he was younger to be able to stand quickly without the need to ready his...
... middle of paper ...
...ecoming a prune."
They both looked at each other and began laughing. The man had fished out a cup and made his way to the water. The water was cool, surprisingly unaffected by the heat coming from the sun. He drank a few cups of it slowly before taking a few steps back, and resting againt the base of the tree. "It is good to see you again, Casore."
"And you as well, Django," the dragon exclaimed. "But as you know I can not let you rest unless you pay the toll for tresspassing into my land."
Django smiled and kicked his shoes off. He wouldn't be going anywhere for a while and the cool sand under the tree felt nice between his toes.
"Very well. If I must, I must," He said with fake sorrow. "Have I ever told you the story of The Boy and his Turtle?"
The dragon thought for a moment. "I do not believe so," he said.
"Good, because it is one of my favorites to tell.
Throughout history man has made many journeys, both far and wide. Moses’ great march through the Red Sea and Columbus's traversing the Atlantic are examples of only a couple of men’s great voyages. Even today, great journeys are being made. Terry Fox's run across Canada while fighting cancer is one of these such journeys. In every one of these instances people have had to rise above themselves and overcome immense odds, similar to a salmon swimming upstream to full fill it's life line. Intense drive and extreme fortitude are qualities they needed to posses during their travels.
...ot always make progress everyday due to the harshness of the trip. On April sixteenth, they start to go from the Base Camp to Camp One, and this is the real beginning of their journey. Shortly after, they leave for Camp Two, and the trip is going well so far. At over 20,000 feet up, a dead body is seen. People are treated for medical conditions at the second camp, and soon need to keep moving up to the third camp. A storm hit during the journey, right before reaching the fourth camp.
After three weeks of waiting for the grass to grow, it finally sprouted up and we started our journey for Oregon. After the first towns in the beginning, The people guiding me began to throw materials out of the back of the wagon. That's when I noticed that their was all sorts of stuff scattering the trail. That night, my guiders unloaded a pile of assorted materials. In the morning, not to my surprise the wagon was lighter and easier to move. The journy was very dry for the next few weeks it was very dry, except when we hit these little towns. We would stop for no more than a day to stock up on energy, then keep on walking.
As the dawn starts to lighten the desert sky, enormous fountains of hot vapor and water can be seen emerging from within the ground. The explosive force causes the columns of hot steam to rise several meters high, clearly outlined against the crystal cold air of the “pampa”, as the desert is generally called.
The long and dangerous journey halfway across the continent was definitely not for the faint of heart. After reviewing both accounts, the general impressions were that of hardship, perseverance, and a will to survive. All for the hopes of a better and more successful life that the new lands promised. While some did not survive the journey, those who did were rewarded for their efforts with new land, opportunities, and even gold.
“Good, I shall join him” little foot responded. It was only ten summers ago when he had moved
We continued down the infinitely long interstate towards our destination. Thunder clouds continued to rumble in, like an ocean tide rolling closer and closer to the beach front. Within minutes the entire landscape was calm and dark. It looked like a total eclipse of the sun, and the once ...
> > > >the place. Stops. Starts. Gashes in the sand. A variable mess of
Closer and closer to the calm water, I began sinking deeper in the sand. It was comforting, the silence, tranquility, and warmth of the faint sun. There is a slight breeze, warm, but cold and lonely. I could smell the scent of fish blowing through my hair and body. The sun was still fading, slowly but surely the day was almost over. About half of it is gone now. I could see shades of blue, red, purple, and pinkish-yellow. They were mixed with puffy clouds that lined the beginning of the sky and the end of the water. I noticed the darker shades on the bottom of the lower clouds.
He arrived at his first destination after about an hour of hiking. After a short while he figured he had looked over his new found haven enough, he was ready. He started down the grade with a small arsenal, consisting of a shovel, about ten granola bars, two bottles of power-ade, his snowshoes, and what was left in his hydration bladder in his pack. After descending about two hundred feet he came into the clearing he was hoping to find, it was as smooth as silk, twenty inches of fresh powder under his board. Up ahead he say a small but formidable drop off on the mountain, he knew if he was going to escape this with his dignity he was going to have to work some magic, to his success. The drop was approximately eighteen feet, but he was ready for it, he landed perfectly, it was like a dream the poof of snow exploding out from his impact, and the gentle flakes hitting his face. As he continued down the slope he did not realize that his gentle landing had severely weakened the physical structure of the mountain’s blanket, and that any moment he could bring the mass down upon himself at impossible speeds.
Good friends are wonderful. They're there to support you and to help you. They make you laugh and feel good. I'm lucky, I have three very good friends. Sure, I have lots of other friends. But these three people, I would take a bullet for.
It was one of those days where you’re glad to be awake early in the morning, before the afternoon gets scorching hot. The feeling of the cool breeze gently caressing your arms and legs is always something to look forward to, and many people would be swayed into taking a nice walk outside under the trees.
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.
The sunless sky covered the woods over the treetops which created a canopy over my head. The crimson and auburn foliage was a magnificent sight, as this was the season known as Fall. There was a gentle breeze, creating the single sound of rustling leaves. The leaves appeared as though they were dying to fall out of the tree and join their companions on the forest floor. Together with pine needles and other flora the leaves formed a thick springy carpet for me to walk upon.