Descriptive Essay About Winter

After Hitler refused to stop the invasion of Poland, Britain and France declared war on Germany. This was the beginning of World War 2, and the United States would shortly join to fight the Axis Powers. In July, 1944 there was an assassination attempt on Adolph Hitler (Page 3). This was the start of the book called The Longest Winter by Alex Kershaw. The Longest Winter, Lieutenant Bouck leads his platoon in the Battle of the Bulge and also through prisoners of war camps in Germany. Kershaw is able to talk about the platoon specifically and describe their struggle through the POW camps. In this book, Alex Kershaw focuses on mainly on the platoon of the 394th Infantry Regiment, 99th Infantry division. The Longest Winter is a book that tells

Born Lisa Williamson in 1964, Sister Souljah is a hip-hop artist that burst to the forefront of mainstream media in 1992 when she was criticized by then Presidential candidate Bill Clinton for saying "If Black people kill black people every day, why not have a week and kill white people?" Clinton was trying to prove to other Democrats that he did not sympathize with the organization that Souljah was a member of. She basically said Bill Clinton and went on to sign music and publishing contracts. She has become one of the more passionate and articulate voices to emerge speaking for young African Americans in the United States. She has written and published to works: No Disrespect, and autobiographical account of

Once upon a dark and snowy Friday night, a mysterious man named Rabbi Hirsch came out of the dark eeriness of his desolate and abandoned synagogue and asked a boy named Michael Devlin if he could turn on the lights for him. Michael in the book Snow in August by Pete Hamill, at first hesitated, but then he willfully did the task. This started a wonderful friendship between the two Brooklyn residents that brought out the in best each other despite their different backgrounds. However, with the relationship came some physical and emotional turmoil as a result of the Rabbi being Jewish and most of Brooklyn being anti-semitic, meaning that they are hostile towards Jews. This was evident when Frankie McCarthy and his band of best friends named

One of the more beautiful things about nature is that it is constantly changing and hold so many mysteries that we don’t understand. Each day brings new beauties and scenes that weren’t there yesterday. Having grown up on the east coast might have caused me to have a greater appreciation for all of the seasons, but one of my favorite things about season is being able to witness the changing over form one to the next. How each plant knows that the change is coming and they all magically start to prepare themselves for the new setting they’re going to create. The romantics capture the mysteries of nature in some of the most beautiful poetry. They delve deep into the possible meanings of what nature could be attempting to tell us or simple what they find beautiful about what they see in nature. One piece that stuck with me this quarter was The Snow Storm by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Winter has always been one of my favorite season since I was a little girl and have always anxiously awaited that first snow fall, dreaming of a white Christmas that year. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s The Snow Storm brought back nostalgic memories of snow filled days in my childhood and made me appreciate having actually experienced snow in real life and the beauty

     Born Lisa Williamson in 1964, Sister Souljah is a hip-hop artist that burst to the forefront of mainstream media in 1992 when she was criticized by then Presidential candidate Bill Clinton for saying “If Black people kill black people every day, why not have a week and kill white people?” Clinton was trying to prove to other Democrats that he did not sympathize with the organization that Souljah was a member of. She basically said Bill Clinton and went on to sign music and publishing contracts. She has become one of the more passionate and articulate voices to emerge speaking for young African Americans in the United States. She has written and published to works: No Disrespect, and

Did you know that eating disorders have some of the most shocking- not to mention frightening, statistics compared to all other mental disorders? Not only do eating disorders have the highest mortality rate compared to any other mental illness, but over 30 million people of all ages, genders, and races suffer from eating disorders. Although all ages can suffer from eating disorders it is most common among teenagers and women. Many books have been written, displaying the intense mental and obviously physical struggles of this sickness. Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson has become very popular over the years as well as Perfect written by Natasha Friend. Eating disorders have also continuously been glamorized in movies and songs. In Civil War Sickness directed by Isa Gueye, she tells about her recovery as well as her struggles

Being a child is one of the hardest stages in a person’s life. They go through doing all the wrong things in order to learn how to do the right things, and then they socially develop into a sensible mature adult. During this stage of a young child's life, the roles of parenting are absolutely crucial and determine a child’s role that he/she is going to play in society in the future. This is a crucial part of everyone’s life, they need to learn what they are good at and what they are not good at. In the poem "Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden, there is a sense that the narrator does not have a special bond with his father when he was a young boy, and that there is a sense of fear toward his father. I

Once upon a time, there lived a girl named Angelina whose dream was to have a chance at seeing the world and the seven wonders it held. “Perhaps, someday,” she sighed, looking out her bedroom window. For now, the one-room apartment her family shared with her and someday were enough. For years, it seemed it would always be.

A poem is an experience, not a thought. It is an experience both the author and the reader share with one another. Authors of poems use tones, keywords, hidden messages, irony, and diction to create their work. They use these tactics so the reader thinks about what they are reading and try evaluating what the message is that the reader wants to get across. In the poem “Snow” by Louis MacNeice, he uses these same characteristics to get the readers mind active in the words. Let’s examine the poem “Snow” and see what the meaning behind this poem is.

David Sedaris’ essay, “Let It Snow” is a reflection of Sedaris’ past. A single day from his childhood in North Carolina where Sedaris and his siblings were home due to school being closed for few days because of bad weather. The story reflects solely on the relationship that Sedaris’ mother had with him and his sisters, and how it was affected by her drinking problem. Although the story revolved around the children the mother was the main character.

I chose to read the novel “Snow” by Orhan Pamuk for my book report. The novel “Snow” is about a poet named Ka who is a political exile living in Germany. Ka travels to Istanbul to attend his mother’s funeral and is asked by a friend at a local newspaper to travel to the town of Kars to write about the municipal elections and a string of suicides being committed by Islamist women who are being forced to take off their headscarves at school. Ka has been experiencing writers block while living in Germany. Upon his return to Kars, poems begin to start coming to him. Throughout the novel, Ka has poems come to him after a significant event occurs or when something inspires him. Ka ends up writing 19 poems during his stay in Kars. When the

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of

Misty dew covers the entire surface of the field. The yellowing corn stalks stand erect and proud until my grandpas tractor comes to end their growth. Autumn slowly weaves its way in and leaves a stain of brilliant color in its wake. Not everyone enjoys such colors, but when you take a second to step outside your doorstep, and look at all the wonders that surround you, you’d be surprised at how marvelous the world can truly be. To me, Autumn is a time for relishing in the colors. Soaking in the oranges and reds while sitting by a warm fire. It’s a time for remembering that everything does end, but it does not have to end in the dreadful way we think it will. Autumn is a time for the closeness of others to keep out the chill of the morning and the starry-eyed darkness of the night.

The time was midnight and the weather was unbearable. The dirt roads had become frozen shadows of the night, making it hard for anyone to see anything. Nay one was out, most were either sleeping or stuffed into the tavern, drinking, and gambling. Nay one 's dumb enough to be outside during this night, nay one but me. From a distance, I hear a piano being played inside the tavern, just barely audible due to the sounds o ' the snow storm. I eased closer to the tavern, desperate to get some warmth and perchance a meal that doesn 't taste like crap. Nay one noticed as I entered, they were too busy drinking and gambling or both. Always too busy to notice.

It was a normal winter morning. I woke up freezing my butt off. The night before we