Download e-book The Hoofers - Jennifer at the Bright Light

Free download. Book file PDF easily for everyone and every device. You can download and read online The Hoofers - Jennifer at the Bright Light file PDF Book only if you are registered here. And also you can download or read online all Book PDF file that related with The Hoofers - Jennifer at the Bright Light book. Happy reading The Hoofers - Jennifer at the Bright Light Bookeveryone. Download file Free Book PDF The Hoofers - Jennifer at the Bright Light at Complete PDF Library. This Book have some digital formats such us :paperbook, ebook, kindle, epub, fb2 and another formats. Here is The CompletePDF Book Library. It's free to register here to get Book file PDF The Hoofers - Jennifer at the Bright Light Pocket Guide.

Great work! I want to be there too! One of my secret admits is I love the smell of cow and horse manure…. Warm, comforting words. There is nothing as special as remember a happy time growing up in a place you love. Well done. In my short years, I have never been to Holland. But I imagine they probably look just like the one I am holding in my hand, having slipped another cookie from the package on the table.

I imagine they must smell like this, and how people who do live in Holland probably walk up to them and smell them when no one is looking. Perhaps the walls of windmills have stones that look like the slivers of almonds here and there. And one window without glass directly in the center. As I bite into this one, I wonder if this is how a windmill might sound as it falls during some summer storm, the same that took our woodshed, a thousand small boards scattered about the property, the boards smelling like wind.

The Hoofers: Jennifer at the Bright Light

Like rain. Like dirt. I love the images in this, like people walking up and smelling windmills when no one is looking.

Celebrities Turn Out for Premiere at Metropolitan Opera House

That makes me laugh, but in the way of recognizing a secret silly thing I would do. I really like the last lines. The staccato feel of the last short lines. I love too, how it is like a thought poem. My mind works like that…running off on a tangent sparked by an object.

I enjoyed this little piece, Paul. And I also love those windmill cookies.

Imágenes de musical actors

I love how you can imagine all about windmills from a cookie. So many nice sensory details. And I can smell the boards as they fall, that earthy smell of wind and rain and dirt. What a neat contrast between the windmill cookie and the woodshed falling down in a summer storm. The sounds and smells of both the cookie and the summer storm were so clear to me, it was like a little vacation.

Thank you! Fresh cut grass. Salty air. The beach. Like a time-lapse movie, all those scented images flood my mind while I collapse into his arms.

Billy Crawford - Bright Lights (Lyric Video) HD/HQ

My face finds his clean-shaven neck. I am home. The breeze teases me with his scent, and my breathing slows. I move in closer resting my hand on the wrinkled linen shirt casually pulled on after our walk on the sand. I allow my eyes to close as the sun waves goodnight and disappears below the horizon. He lets out a prolonged peaceful sigh and the breath of the ocean sways the porch swing lulling us to sleep. Laura, I love this scene. As I left the school building wind and snow blew furiously around me.

Site search

Walking home the stinging snow and whirling winds greeted me at every corner and my fingers and toes were ice cold. When I finally reached home and turned the knob I was transported to a new world. Bright lights, warmth, and delicious smells greeted me at the door. Was it soup cooking on the stove and cookies baking in the oven? I immediately felt warm and happy. Memories come in all shapes and sizes, but the best ones you can taste. As I am looking through my books on the dingy classroom shelves, I come to one of my old favorites.

The Root Cellar. Pulling it off the shelf carefully, I wipe the thin layer of dust off the top. The cover is worn and has many creases in it from years of being read. I have owned this book for over 20 years, yet it still holds mystery. As I flip the yellowed pages, there is a faint musty smell. No matter, it brings back the memory of fall afternoons filled with a cool crisp breeze. I can taste the hot bagels topped with sauce and melted cheese. I had my after school snack and my book.

the hoofers jennifer at the bright light Manual

The book that could transport me to another time and place, and with this one, it had 2 different places to take me. One of my first experiences with time travel. As I munched my way through the bagels, I was brought into another world. Those are the best memories of all. I can still taste the pizza my mom brought to me in my room so I could keep reading. The first line takes a moment to unfold. The sensory details moved the writing and memory along.

Nicely done! Renee, sometimes it is good to take a break from the WIP and just bring back some memories through writing. I hope that you found inspiration. Andy you are right. It was helpful to step away and write something different. I ended up writing more in my WIP later and it flowed faster. Donna — Thanks for the guest post. I especially appreciated that you used excerpts from books as mentors for us. Would you be willing to share something sensory from your books? The plinks get faster and louder. Finally, rain splashes against my window in a deluge.

Thanks for sharing the Olivia Bean excerpt. Great fodder for my student writers. As I start to run, I hear the roar of the ocean and feel the slap of its waves, and my mind recaptures the sense of awe from the first time I saw, smelled, and heard it — our first trip together, to Mazatlan, where we sweltered and sweat, escaping the heat with sugary drinks in the pool. A hot puff of steam from a Yellowstone geyser shoots up next to me, its sulfuric odor briefly overpowering. Sweat trickles down my back as we hike through a bamboo forest, and I feel the cooling relief of a fully-clothed leap into a waterfall — a relic from our Hawaii honeymoon.

I pause to inhale the sweet scent of wildflowers and the tangy odor of pine, keeping my ears alert for the rustling of bushes, the sign of a nearby Yosemite deer — or a mama bear, protecting her two little cubs. My shoulders tingle a bit, and I reach my left hand to my right shoulder, then flinch away in pain. I knew I should have reapplied sunscreen after that last dip in a Playa del Carmen pool.

I tip my handheld water bottle up for a mid-run drink, but instead of water, I taste the sweet musk of a good merlot, one far out of our budget, on our Napa tour. A chilly, salty breeze blows across me, and though I briefly shiver, the soft lapping of Dungeness Bay waves at sunset stills me just in time to hear a bald eagle call from his post on the powerlines above my head. The sounds, smells, and tastes of vacations past fade away as a wayward sprinkler squirts me and my stomach rumbles. This was beautiful! It was a mistake for Arthur to let his grandson, Anthony, use the camper for him and his girlfriend to live in while he built a house.

He should have known cleanliness would not be a priority. It never had been for Amanda, even after she had her baby. The first thing that caught my eye was a gallon sized glass jar of Vlasic pickles tipped on its side, a few whe pickles still swimming in the cloudy liquid. Amazingly it had not exploded in the heat or cold it had been exposed to while sitting unused during these last few years.

The carpet was spotted and worn, and had seen no vacuum for several years. I know their excuse would be that they had no power other than the generator, but at this point their excuses were as useless as the water pipes which had been allowed to burst in the winter. Grit and grime, pine needles, leaves, paper, dirt, crumbs, and yes, droppings from small critters that had made this camper their home were embedded into the texture of the carpet. The linoleum in the kitchen was torn, and layered black with dirt and grease so heavy the color of the flooring was unrecognizable. There were larger items, too, baby clothes that no longer fit, cast away toys, plastic garbage bags that spilled out soda cans and bottles, greasy, grimy tools, newspapers, candy wrappers, and other delights.

The smell was putrid. And above all that was a worst smell, the smell of urine gone stale, strong enough to make me step back down the steps to suck in some clean, fresh air.