(no subject)
discriptive paragraph
As I sit by the fire crackling fire as I wait for my blueberry pancakes to cook. Even though the sun is peeking over the moutian tops the air still has a frosty autumn bite to it. It's a cold morning but the fire warms me as I take in the morning rays. I can see the horse, a black mare with white jagged socks, as she drinks noisly from the deep cool stream about fifteen feet in front of me. The thick aquamarine lead roap that attatches to her matching halter is tied to a fallen tree and the slack follows like a love sick puppy after her. She trots across the wet,rocky bank and into the tall grass to eat. Meanwhile, the morning mist shrinks across the green and golden hills. The valley is sorrunded by tall snow capped moutians like a midevial fortress. The moutians arn't as green as the valley because of the red blurberry bushes that spread across he moutian sides like a blush across a virgins cheek. The smell of fresh air, and wet leather mingle with the smell of fire smoke. My muscels ache form the hard days of ridings in a saddle. My calves and thighs feel as though they have become like beef jerkey and knot often because of many days of sitting in a witewahsed office behind a computer desk. The closest I have come to the great outdoors there is the occosanioal shrivled spider plant in a nairghboring cubical. I put my saddle which is cold and covered with dew, across a newly stripped log to dry in morning sun. Near by my tent yellow, blue compression sack, and army green sleeping bag and bedroll lie rolled up on a blue tarp, to keep them clean and dry.
As I sit by the fire crackling fire as I wait for my blueberry pancakes to cook. Even though the sun is peeking over the moutian tops the air still has a frosty autumn bite to it. It's a cold morning but the fire warms me as I take in the morning rays. I can see the horse, a black mare with white jagged socks, as she drinks noisly from the deep cool stream about fifteen feet in front of me. The thick aquamarine lead roap that attatches to her matching halter is tied to a fallen tree and the slack follows like a love sick puppy after her. She trots across the wet,rocky bank and into the tall grass to eat. Meanwhile, the morning mist shrinks across the green and golden hills. The valley is sorrunded by tall snow capped moutians like a midevial fortress. The moutians arn't as green as the valley because of the red blurberry bushes that spread across he moutian sides like a blush across a virgins cheek. The smell of fresh air, and wet leather mingle with the smell of fire smoke. My muscels ache form the hard days of ridings in a saddle. My calves and thighs feel as though they have become like beef jerkey and knot often because of many days of sitting in a witewahsed office behind a computer desk. The closest I have come to the great outdoors there is the occosanioal shrivled spider plant in a nairghboring cubical. I put my saddle which is cold and covered with dew, across a newly stripped log to dry in morning sun. Near by my tent yellow, blue compression sack, and army green sleeping bag and bedroll lie rolled up on a blue tarp, to keep them clean and dry.