Another essay for English:
I am country.
Even though I grew up in suburbia less than ten minutes from the big city lights, the country is my home.
Have I ever lived there? No. Then what is it that makes me love it so much?
I love the music, the food, the attitude and the people.
Many, many people hate country music. I have very few friend that
can tolerate it when I ride int eh car with them, I love it because it
tells about the realities of life. How hard it is, and how you should
find joy in the little things.
I love the food. Venison if fantastic and nothing can be compared to
fresh vegetables right out of the garden. Don't even bring 'em inside
to wash them. Just dig in! Big hearty meals after working all day?
Strew, fresh bread and those veggies? How can you get better?
Don't forget those country boys! With hot tan lines, serious muscle,
dressed in plaids and wranglers. Picking you up in a truck, politely
tippin their hat and opening the car door? They treat you right.
But the thing that I love most about the country is the land. The
sunrises, unobstructed by buildings. The smell of fresh hay and the
dusty barns. Muddy boots by the door, the shuffle of horses in their
stalls, sunlight streaming through the cracks in the barn.
That is what makes me a country girl.
Monday, December 31, 2012
My Bench
Short essay I wrote for my English class:
How do I feel about a park bench?
I feel relaxed. When I think of a bench, I think of wood so weathered that it's almost grey, and a wrought iron frame with small intricate designs.
I think of my back to the pier, water lapping against the sand. I think of the sun just setting, and pink and blue streaking through the sky.
I imagine green grass and huge terra cotta pot filled with mums on either side of my bench.
I feel the warm breeze on a Sunday night after church, just before it rains. The wind whipping my hair backs and my skirt pressed against my legs.
When I'm on the bench, I'm eating cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, and drinking orange soda. On the bench with me is by friend of 15 years, Clara. 15 years we've been coming to this bench, and may another 15 go by.
On my grey, weathered bench, I lastly hear the carousel with all the little children going round and round and round.
When I look at a park bench, I think of Charlotte beach on a warm summer night just before it rains, with my long time friend Clara.
How do I feel about a park bench?
I feel relaxed. When I think of a bench, I think of wood so weathered that it's almost grey, and a wrought iron frame with small intricate designs.
I think of my back to the pier, water lapping against the sand. I think of the sun just setting, and pink and blue streaking through the sky.
I imagine green grass and huge terra cotta pot filled with mums on either side of my bench.
I feel the warm breeze on a Sunday night after church, just before it rains. The wind whipping my hair backs and my skirt pressed against my legs.
When I'm on the bench, I'm eating cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, and drinking orange soda. On the bench with me is by friend of 15 years, Clara. 15 years we've been coming to this bench, and may another 15 go by.
On my grey, weathered bench, I lastly hear the carousel with all the little children going round and round and round.
When I look at a park bench, I think of Charlotte beach on a warm summer night just before it rains, with my long time friend Clara.
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