Descriptive Essay: Elie Wiesel's Last Summer

The sound of trickling rain, and the absence of conversation, permeated the air around us, as both Margaret and I remained stagnant in our positions of choice. My eyes took for Margaret before redirecting themselves along the line of sight that was occupied by hers; and it appeared as though the storm we were enduring was progressing north, and stemmed from the direction that lied behind the outskirts of our village. Rotating my body in surveillance of the sky’s coloration behind me, I took note of the impending clarity that would soon take place, as the colors that signified the sunset were meagerly seeping through the clouds. However, on the other hand, as I swiveled back to my original placement and scanned the skies to the north that rested

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. There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled above the other in the west facing window. (39)

“A lifeless woman was on the ground while an emaciated child in her arms just stared helplessly at his mother's face. I thought my heart was broken but I had managed to keep all my emotions inside of me.”

She never cried for so long. Her heart felt like a crumbled piece of paper, like it could never be fixed again. She would cry and cry like a never ending story. The pain of this situation would hurt her more than anything she thought. She thought that it was the worst thing that could happen to her. What she didn’t know was that it was only the beginning.

As I sit on my covered deck listening to the rain pelt the deadening trees that surround me, I’m not surprised to find a smile forming on my lips. My charming two story house is tucked away on little old Cambridge Street, beautifully located on the outskirts of Cresco. The sun has set, making the sky as dark as the devil’s eyes. A sudden flash of light jolts me alert, the deep rumble of thunder roars to life seconds later matching the rhythm of my heart beat. The sweet, fresh, and powerfully evocative smell of rain is so soul capturing; it leaves you with nothing but pure freedom. As I stick my hand out from underneath the covered deck, I’m shocked to find the rain to be as cold as a penguin’s home. The heavenly sound of laughter coming from

Lightning ripped open the sky violently with a fierce crash of thunder as Faithe felt a cold chill run down her back. The misty moonlight of the stormy skies lit up her golden, wavy hair like silver petals. Twisted trees stood tall and majestic like skyscrapers in the damp, dreary night. Suddenly, a strong gale of wind pushed her deeper and deeper down the endless pathway. Her heart was racing faster than a speeding train, as her strides got longer and quicker. She was a colossal wreck!

I waded through the puddles, taking in the beauty around me. Dark trees grew wildly on the roadside, their jagged branches folding out into the sky. Wild grasses sprouting along the road; untamed. No sound other than that of droplets slapping the surface of

Small drops of rain fell from the gray clouds outside the funeral home window. How fitting. This is the perfect weather for a funeral, isn’t it? Gloomy, dark, you name it. It didn’t matter though. No one was affected by the sound of the rain. Nobody cared. Everybody, including me, was too busy missing Margaret Grace. If only Margaret Grace was still here. She loved the rain because there would always be a rainbow after.

The sun woke her up that morning. Its sunlight slipping through thin slits of silver curtain, while the birds flew by, flashing small increments of shade onto her face. Her creamy bed sheets rustled when she sat up to look out the window. Another beautiful day like always. Midnight strands of hair dropped in front of her eyes, and she reached up to push it away from her face. Rain still dripped down the glass from the storm the night before, her eyes following the water droplets migrating to their destination of the bottom her window sill.

I sat on my bed looking out from the window watching the world being washed away, the silence around me was deafening. Life wasn't the same anymore. The days seem longer and more unbearable. It had been raining for more than a week, so much rain it made everyday seem so restless and gloomy. The once beautiful cocktail-blue shade of the sky was lost, what replaced it was a dark gravel-grey. Large pillows of clouds were blanketing the sky, closing out the old-gold colour of the sun. What once started as a splatter of rain became more intense, moving across the city like a wall, drumming against every surface. The weather was the perfect representation of my feelings; after he left me, after I lost the love of my life.

It was raining. “Well that’s just great, I don’t have a raincoat,”I said as I stepped out of the building. One by one the raindrops fell from the sky and onto me. The raindrops danced as I walked. I hate the rain. The feeling of liquid on my skin bothered me. I walked along the pavement until I felt something. The feeling of my stomach twisting and churning was escalating.

Feet dragging through a magically soft and grainy mixture, ankles experiencing the rush of a gentle ebb and flow, fingers weaving through the delicate yet power-bearing wind, it was a beautiful sensation that fit the cleanliness of the crisp air. A gentle swish of the wind whispers across my skin, contrasting harshly with the grating sound of barking in the distance that ground beneath the edges of my jaw. Large, white, noisy birds made sounds that rather resembled cackling. Children’s laughter flooded the air along with those of their parents. The sun shone lightly down upon the earth, but the dark clouds on the horizon and the chill in the breeze told me it wouldn’t remain sunny. A crashing and a special roaring breathed life and is

The wind made her cry. She didn’t cry because of sadness; she cried because the oily wind caressed her across the cheek. It was frustrating. She had never felt so much anger from nature before. The black clouds were rushing to get into formation, but she knew it would not rain that day. The dank atmosphere was disgusting. The dark morning atmosphere was corrupting her important day.

The air felt soft with the after-caress of the mid day rain. Tiny droplets darkened his white suit. The irony in the atmosphere made him crack a smile so wide he had to bend his head down to hide it; it was perfect weather, but definitely not his definition of a perfect day. The sudden silence meant it was time for him to make his speech. He stood, straightened himself, and

The droplets which hit the ground made me feel as if I was missing out, but the ones which kissed my dry, cracked face were so tender. I realised that the rain was a sign, a sign of the beloved homeland filled with food and water, the land with an abundance of everything.