Here is the writing exercise that we competed in class today (July 2):
Choose a spot that brings back a rush of sensory details—sights, sounds, smells, textures, and tastes. It doesn’t need to be an enormous natural wonder like the Grand Canyon. Try describing a private spot—a certain tree in your backyard, a basketball court, a relative’s dining room, the corner of a city lot, the interior of a closet, or a window seat that catches sunlight. As you think about the specifics of this place—its details and sensations—you’ll probably remember a dominant impression, a cluster of images, or a person connected to the place. These are all part of your internal landscape. Write a few short descriptive paragraphs with as many details as you can.
Read your response to your partner. As you listen to his/her description, identify the details that strike you as the most vivid. Find a phrase or an image or a detail that could be elaborated on. What questions do you have for the writer about it? What do you think this description says about the writer’s worldview? When you finish your discussion, post your description to our course blog.
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In my room, I have a loft. This loft was the birthplace of many of my best adventures as a child. It is located up a ladder on the far right side of my room. Lying in bed, I can just see inside of it. It has white banisters that anchor it to the ceiling and keep me from falling off of it. The ladder is white too. After climbing, one can see the three white shelves that hold a mishmash of objects of various uses and memories.
I have changed this place several times over my lifespan. It has been a house for my dolls, a private reading room, and a secret tea spot. I can taste the sweet crunch of a stolen sugar cookie and the tart satisfaction of smuggled grape fruit juice tasting a little musty after being sipped from an ancient tea cup. This place is littered with odds and ends. From candles and picture frames, to doll clothes and miniature tables and chairs, this place has served countless purposes. In middle school, I got into one of my creative phases and purchased a variety of old records. Alternating paint colors and old vinly covers, I decorated the only large flat wall with a mixture of the two. Still to this day it is my favorite place.
I used to journal up here and cry into my pillow when my day was unfair. I would hide out until my mom’s crackling voice would come through the intercom located under the opening of the loft to call for dinner. I twisted my ankle the first time I was up here when I killed my first spider and was so excited to show my bravery I fell off the ladder. Now it is one of my cat’s favorite nap spots. Sometimes Her pathetic mewing in the middle of the night to be helped down the ladder will awaken me. Everyone who sees my room turns and “ooohs” a bit when they see the opening in the wall. The question always follows, “can we go up there?” and I am always happy to share my place with them. Having a secret room is so exhilarating and fun as a child that even now I still smile and stare at the ladder which has held so many strangers and strengthened so many friendships.
I like to go to my grandmother’s. Her house is located on the southern side of the island. I always like to lie down on the top of the roof. My grandma’s house is an all white painting, 3 stories, and nontraditional Chinese house like. The style or the feeling of the house is kind like those Greek Houses around Aegean Sea that you can see from the travel guide or postcard. My favorite thing to do is watching the stars, listen to the wild wind sound, and smell the ocean waves when I am at my grandma’s. I always think that my grandma’s house is the best vocation spot I can ever look for when I was little. Everything down there is just so peaceful. And the scenery is just spectacular! The view in front of the house is the coat between West Pacific Ocean, Philippians Sea, and Taiwan Strait. The backdrop of the house is peaks and peaks of marvelous mountains. The scenery is just beyond description. I think why makes my grandma’s house special in myself is because I am tired of city life. In Taipei city where I have been growing up is very busy, and everything must need to be in schedule and on time. I personally think that nobody ever has his or her own time to just take a breath. In the city, we are all kind just like one of those checkers in the chess. A little checker that was functioned by the big monster.
As you follow the dirt road just to where field changes to forest there is a small slope in the earth to the right of the path. It is an island of moss. At the very top of the slope there is a very old and towering birch tree. It stands alone in an area crowded with coniferous trees. Though it still stands, over the years it has steadily begun to die and decay, dropping branches when weather forces it to do so. At the very top of the trunk new life begins to appear. It sprouts younger branches and leaves. Upon these branches every once in a while a hawk or owl will perch, scouting his or her territory. The air here feels cooler, and smells of damp earth and the soft moss blow. the moss is a golden brown, and almost velvet soft blanketing the entire mound of earth. Over the years the conifers have begun to spread into the open space, and little saplings have sprouted among the moss. The earth that surrounds this island is drier and covered in dry grasses and brushes. It is on this little slope that I have chosen to bury most of my pets that have passed away. It is here that I came to sit when I wished to be alone surrounded by nature. Though out in the open I still felt isolated here.
A blast of Uncle Jay’s shotgun makes a splash in the shallow water, supposedly scaring away any snakes in the creek. There is a thick downward slope leading to the creek which stops suddenly and drops straight down, maybe a foot. I guess it’s not so much straight down, as it is slopping the opposite direction creating an overhang. If the snakes don’t swim up or down stream or out of the creek, they hide under the ledge. Thick green trees and bushes surround the shallow water. There is a large tree with a think branch stretching out over the little creek. A rope is tied to the branch. Some of the kids have dug down to make a spot deep enough to jump off the rope. I’ve always been scared to jump because you can’t see the bottom to check for water snakes. There might also be a cotton mouth in the tree that will fall into the water if the branch moves enough. As far as I know, nobody has been bitten yet. At first the water is clear, revealing the rocky bottom, until all the kids start splashing around, disturbing the soil particles. If everyone is still, little silver fish will start swimming downstream. You can feel the humidity and thick air, but it smells fresh and clean, with the occasional touch of smoke from the grill or food from the house-delicious smelling food. Sometimes birds can be heard through the talking and screaming.
My sister and mines favorite part of the annual 4th of July Oklahoma trip was playing in the creek, splashing around, and ruining a pair or clothes- the homemade ice-cream was also amazing. When we were young, not really wanting to mingle with relatives, we just wanted to have fun, and do something we couldn’t do at home. As I got older, one of my favorite things was shooting Black Cats, M80’s, and Pop Bottle Rockets into the water. Biggest splash wins!!
Behind the house where I grew up just outside of Philadelphia was a large hill that ran down to the edge of a small patch of thick woods. After school, I used to go down to these woods and follow a small path down to a creek. Getting down to the creek was not easy. The woods grew out of the side of a step bank with large portions of exposed schist and granite rising out of the hill side. My friends and I would carefully climb down this slope, over top of the slick exposed rock where water had seeped through the pores of the stones. The most, mid-Atlantic climate provided a unique natural setting with a variety of vegetation and wildlife. Thick tall grass grew in between the moss covered stones. I remember how much poison ivy, oak, and vine grew through out the forest. Maybe it was just me, but I swear I could smell the poisonous foliage whenever it was near. Once we would get down to the creek, the large remains of an old mill still stood a top a small waterfall. All that was left of the old mill was one corner that stood about thirty feet high. We could still see where the windows in the old building once were, but now they were covered over with thick cob webs and ivy. We used to spend hours down at the creek playing in the water, searching for frogs and craw fish, and talking about what seemed to be the most pressing issues in the world at the time to a group of 12 year olds. Massive oak trees grew from the bottom of the revene sixty feet up, creating a massive canpoy which barely allowed light to infiltrate our seculded hang out. We loved it there, and the only thing that coudl pull as away from our clandestine layer was the echoing sound of a a large dinner bell that the parents in the neighborhood used to call their children home for dinner.
Boulder is my nest. It is small yet full of people and full of open space. It is mine but it is theirs also. The Pearl St. Mall has always meant something different for me than it does for all the tourists and all the college students. To me it is not only a place to buy art or to go to the bars. It is the place where I would sit outside with my friends during long summer days and give tourists wrong directions while grinning at them with my chocolate ice cream-covered face. It is the place where I've seen daylight turn to such a beautiful and breathtaking color of rose that everyone in the streets stopped what they were doing to start around them. It is where I go to interact with friendly people who are happy to have someone smile at them. I remember buying most of my presents at the Arts & Crafts Co Op. I remember when they knocked down the smelly Pearl St Trade Company to put up yet another fancy building. I was on Pearl the first time a homeless man asked me for a smile instead of money. The community there has helped me to feel confident that no matter how many inconsiderate and unpleasant people surround you, the best way to find the nice ones is to take deep breath, relax, smile, and just be nice yourself.
I remember sitting on a sofa with carpeting underneath, watching television next to the big windows as light late afternoon sun began to fade, listening to the sounds from the kitchen. This was probably during the fall at some time, because the senses remembered for that time period are most associated with that season.
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