(This story was complied by the LA #2 class's descriptive writing pieces. The following is a combination of the first lines of each of their stories.)
Listen. Silence. There is for me a place of peace far off and distant from all others. As you slowly walk up the paved hill you turn right into the shady, dark, gravel driveway. The fountain has the clearest water I’ve ever seen. The cabin sits on the top of a hill, last in the line of four cabins. A small lion-like figure scuttles into my view. Duncan was a reddish-orange rough collie with a white mane, a long, narrow nose, and an almost fox-like tail with its white tip and black stripes. My once-a-week guitar lesson is beginning to unfold. The music rings through the large room making a gentle and calming sound. The strings feel soft, smooth, to allow fingers to glide over them quickly. Peanut butter from the cabinet, jelly from the fridge, bread from the bread drawer. When I eat a piece of chocolate, I step into a new and yummy world. Ahh, the great American pastime.
