Steve Polimeny: A Short Story
Most male citizens wore cowboy hats and there were hitching posts that were used regularly in front of the grocery store, cafe, dry goods store, tavern and post office. The commercial center of town was limited to the east side of Highway 30. The speed limit, which few drivers acknowledged, was thirty-five on the two-lane highway that bisected the town without so much as a stoplight. Haines had no mail delivery so we walked, drove, or rode a horse or a bicycle to the post office to get our mail from a little box with a window and a combination lock dial on its face. There were dozens of these little boxes on one wall of the post office lobby, the wall that split the building down the middle. There was also a window with an ornate cast bronze …show more content…
In the summer of '62, Steve Polimeni, my best friend in all the world, closer than a brother since we were four years old, came from Portland for a visit. Eight years earlier, Steve and I were five-year-olds, attached at the hip, growing up in the suburban jungle of expanding Portland. Although we lived in a big city, we were no strangers to wild adventure. The neighborhoods were expanding at breakneck speed in an effort to keep up with the post-war baby boom. The suburbs were rolling over the former hayfields and forests of northeast Portland. Pockets of wild forest still remained to be explored and the construction sites with half-finished homes provided endless opportunity for curious minds. We slipped like a pair of miniature ghosts in and out of locked gates and fences designed to stop adults and were seldom slowed down by anything. We got a rude surprise one day while traversing a familiar landscape subtly changed by a recent heavy rain. The firm brown earth of the previous day was still brown but not so firm. We ran lightly over the brown surface until its unfamiliar sticky quality brought us to an unwilling stop. Like that, we were stuck, bogged down to the top of our rubber boots. All we could do was stand at the center of that ocean of mud and hope for
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832 Words | 4 PagesFar birds' cries blew on a wind, and the smell of tar and an old salt sea, moist grasses, and flowers the color of blood. “, while Plumwood is on a present-day marsh. In “A Sound of Thunder”, the hunters have to stand on this path or they can change the future. "’ And that,’ he said, ‘is the Path, laid by Time Safari for your use, It floats six inches above the earth. Doesn't touch so much as one grass blade, flower, or tree.
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1523 Words | 7 PagesShe paused for a moment and her ears went back as the ground begin to shake beneath her. She nearly fell trying to get away from the moving ground beneath her, but as quick as it began, it stopped. The cat stared intently at the ground, the stillness of the air and the silence was eerie to her after the ground shook, and she was suspicious of it. Suddenly breaking through the silence sprouted seeds broke through the dirt and were growing at an alarming rate. The seedlings grew into sapling trees and as the saplings filled the area the forest began to take
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1904 Words | 8 Pages“Darn, surrounded by all of these nice homes and communities, this High School should be really nice,” is what I thought once I got to the North Druid Hills Rd and North Cliff Valley Way intersection. In front of me all that I could see was vibrant communities that displayed their affiliation with the Lenox area, which is a very rich area. Making a left onto North Druid Hills Road, I continued to see beautiful homes on my right and my left I began to see the campus of Cross Keys High School. Due to the tons of leaves that had fallen, the bare trees that occupied the front of the campus, and the splotchy patches of grass, viewing the Cross Keys campus was not as striking to the eye as was the view of the surrounding homes. Having such a bare
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560 Words | 3 PagesThe nature has reclaimed the trail for its own trees and roots sprout out from the trial there are low overhanging limbs that makes it harder to walk without ducking and dodging. The blue hydrangeas that used to bloom here now bloom black and nameless. I would usually recognize the shrubs that used to bloom here ,but know one has taken a hand to them in years . Now those are just parasites The gnarled roots that grow out from the sidewalk look like skeletons claws. Shadows seemed to be following my every move as i walked down.
The Importance Of Living In Natick
251 Words | 2 PagesA measly twenty-five miles from Tufts, I have grown up in the town of Natick. My parents chose Natick for numerous reasons, but what I love about my hometown is its welcoming sense of community. Every year when I participate in Natick’s Fourth of July parade, I easily identify my friends, teammates and co-workers amongst the crowds cheering me on. When I help at the library, I work alongside the same librarians who read Cat in the Hat to me almost a decade earlier.
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Descriptive Essay: Description Of The Lake
766 Words | 4 PagesThere was no chattering or chirping of birds; no growling of bears and no chuckling of contented otters; instead, the clearing lay desolate and still, as though it never wished to be turned into day. The only occupants were rodents and spiders who had set their home in the dank, forgotten shack. From its base, dead, brown grass reached out, all the way to the edge of the tree-line, unable to survive in the perished, infertile soil that made up the foundations of the house. Bird houses and feeders swung still from the once growing apple trees, in the back garden, consigned to a life of
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1225 Words | 5 PagesThe cool, upland air, flooding through the everlasting branches of the lively tree, as it casts a vague shadow onto the grasses ' fine green. Fresh sunlight penetrates through the branches of the tree, illuminating perfect spheres of water upon its green wands. My numb and almost transparent feet are blanketed by the sweetness of the scene, as the sunlight paints my lips red, my hair ebony, and my eyes honey-like. The noon sunlight acts as a HD camera, telling no lies, in the world in which shadows of truth are the harshest, revealing every flaw in the sight, like a toddler carrying his very first camera, taking pictures of whatever he sees. My head looks down at the sight of my cold and lifeless feet, before making its way up to the reaching arms of an infatuating tree, glowing brightly virescent at the edges of the trunk, inviting a soothing, tingling sensation to my soul.
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