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Self- reflective essay
Greiving reflective essay
Greiving reflective essay
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More handpicked essays just for you.
Self- reflective essay
Greiving reflective essay
Greiving reflective essay
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: Self- reflective essay
Gentle sea breeze tickled my face as I watched wisps of white fluff drifted across a crystal clear blue sky. The rhythmic sound of the wave; the screeching of the sea birds was so familiar and hypnotic at the same time. However, my children’s pearls of laughter turned all the other sounds into background
Greasy Lake “Greasy Lake” by T. Coraghessan Boyle is a story about a 19 year old young boy, the narrator, who learns that his bad boy image is just an image. Describing himself and his friends, Digby and Jeff, as “dangerous characters” (Boyle 77), he soon realizes that he may not be ready for such a title. Out with his friends one summer night, the narrator, Digby and Jeff head to Greasy Lake in hopes of getting into some type of “adventure” (Boyle 78). Thinking that they have spotted their friends car on Greasy Lake they attempt to play a joke on him and his girl. Once the young boys approach the car they soon realize that the car belongs to some other “bad greasy character” (Boyle 78).
It was a dark night today, in fact, it was quite a peaceful night. The icy fingers of the wind grabbed and wrapped around me and Ponyboy. The trees swayed left to right. As if they were dancing, the crickets chirping. Making music and the frogs making their own little sounds here and there.
The Trek to Investigate Stryker 's Dam We had managed to Acquire the coordinates of a much Maligned Government base in the Arctic region of Alaska. My traveling companion and I would Undoubtedly have reached our target by the Eighth of the month. In order to embark on this journey I had had to overcome the Inhibition of my peers to do a hands on investigation of this decrepit abandoned government installation. As we approached a jagged outcropping of rock I stopped to survey our map, due to the lack of cell towers and electricity.
I watched as the big fiery ball climbed above everything else. It shot out orangish-red rays from all direction and made the town brighter. As lovely as the morning was I knew that today wouldn't be horrible. I could only watch from down here, the beautiful shining star.
Reflected on the surface of a motionless lake was a large blue and green planet. Known to its inhabitants as Earth, yet to those on the outside, it was known as a breeding ground for greatness. Since the dawn of time, unsuspecting earthlings with potential had been whisked away to beyond the stars where their destiny awaited. Standing on the shore overlooking the lake where a pair of incorporeal figures. One looked to be the embodiment of darkness.
Winkle describes the landscape as he goes hunting that in which “gray vapours” would gather in the “last rays of the setting sun” and would “glow and light up like a
In this self reflective short essay, I will read my previously written essay, Memorable Lakes of Ohio, and critique my work. I will talk about what I could have done better, what ways I believe I'm proficient in, and why. Title of My Essay A couple of weeks ago I dove into my past to talk about what I've experienced living on the shore of Buckeye Lake and visiting Lake Erie.
My parent’s cabin on Shell Lake in Wisconsin is my happy place. Though the entire cabin experience is wonderful, my favorite times are when I sneak to the shore where I plop a plastic Adirondack right where the sand and the lake meet. With a book in one hand and a full, warm cup of coffee in the other, I twitter my toes under the tiny waves. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr, a pontoon full of elderly men and women, wearing sun-faded fishing caps trolls by, sending a phase of waves lapping at my ankles. Though we are strangers, I smile and wave as they putter along on their mid-morning tour.
“And on down the river, and on and on, were fireflies. lines of them wavering out from this bank and the other and back again. . . sketching their uncertain lines of light down close to the surface of the water, hidden from outside by the grasses. . .” (Par. 2).
Falling stars cried out to me; I felt them hit the sea. And the light came from the rising sun; scattered through the leaves. Wandering through the woods, a faithful friend found me.
My fingers below me moved through the strings of my guitar, performing a slow dance along the instrument. The notes combined into a stream, a flowing and gentle pulse. The music spread forth into the forest as a breeze, blissful and calm. Warmth flooded through my whole as I brought life into the dead silence of the early winter morning. For the forest was quiet; no animals awoke, the trees were motionless and the birds spared their illustrious voices.
Golden rays danced across the deep blue surface of the still water as the day awoke. A cascade of light enveloped the horizon, unveiling a bountiful array of colours. Fields of red roses serenaded the sky, while enormous willow trees, swayed in the light breeze, applauding its arrival. Perched precariously upon a thin branch stood a delicate wood pigeon. Without warning a loud crack echoed across the area and the pigeon fell to the mercy of gravity.
Small, stagnant puddles, on the uneven planks of timber wood reflected the dark, brooding sky above - rarely disturbed by the callous slices of moonlight seeping through the clouds, creating a specular reflection through a ripple in the languid water. Surrounding the lake, lay a rigid, pine forest, which stretched far past the mountainous boundaries - rising high, around the solitary lake. A death-like mist pervaded through the trees enveloping them in a gelid, cutting fog. A silent, lonely willow shivered as the still, biting air engulfed its aged branches in an icy cage and suffocated its stiffened lungs, causing each freezing breath to drag. Crusted leaves stacked one on top of the other as
The 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.