Descriptive Paper About the Eiffel Tower
I slowly lay back in the grass. The sight in front of me is too much to take in while standing. The wetness of the grass sends a chill running down my spine and along my arms. My sweatshirt cannot warm me from this chill tonight. It is the infamous chill that one receives when something really touches them. When you hear a story and it makes you happy or sad or when someone tells you that they love you. It is a meaningful chill, one you will never forget.
All of the lights begin to dim and the people stroll quietly underneath her. She is so beautiful. I had seen pictures and read all about her. I never dreamt I would meet her face to face. I have to admit that I am nervous. What if I do not like her? What if I wish I were somewhere else? These thoughts run in and out of my mind as I lay there.
Finally it is our turn to venture up into this great monument. Our decision to take the elevator is a wise one, though I would be taking the stairs when I went down. We pack into the elevator. “We’re as tight as sardines”, exclaims a really loud lady from the back of the pack. The stench of body odor is almost too overwhelming. The French do not see the need to bath as regularly as us Americans. So once I reach the top, and the doors open, it is a mad dash to the doors. The first one out can breathe all the fresh air. Let’s just say I tied for first.
A slight welcoming breeze rustles my hair as my gaze wanders from side to side. Everything looks so small from up here. This huge vastness makes me feel but of a tiny existence. Her beauty brings a bit of rosiness to my cheeks. The moon now smiles down on me when only moments ago it was the sun. How long have I been up here? Is my group looking for me? These questions only visit my mind for a second or so then they are gone like the wind. Perhaps they are carried away by the same wind that so sweetly caresses my skin.
I do not mind the occasional bump I receive from a random passerby. This sight is big enough to share with
All of the lights begin to dim and the people stroll quietly underneath her. She is so beautiful. I had seen pictures and read all about her. I never dreamt I would meet her face to face. I have to admit that I am nervous. What if I do not like her? What if I wish I were somewhere else? These thoughts run in and out of my mind as I lay there.
Finally it is our turn to venture up into this great monument. Our decision to take the elevator is a wise one, though I would be taking the stairs when I went down. We pack into the elevator. “We’re as tight as sardines”, exclaims a really loud lady from the back of the pack. The stench of body odor is almost too overwhelming. The French do not see the need to bath as regularly as us Americans. So once I reach the top, and the doors open, it is a mad dash to the doors. The first one out can breathe all the fresh air. Let’s just say I tied for first.
A slight welcoming breeze rustles my hair as my gaze wanders from side to side. Everything looks so small from up here. This huge vastness makes me feel but of a tiny existence. Her beauty brings a bit of rosiness to my cheeks. The moon now smiles down on me when only moments ago it was the sun. How long have I been up here? Is my group looking for me? These questions only visit my mind for a second or so then they are gone like the wind. Perhaps they are carried away by the same wind that so sweetly caresses my skin.
I do not mind the occasional bump I receive from a random passerby. This sight is big enough to share with