View from the Hill
Old Peakster hill sat ruggedly between two cliff faces, directly facing Wilmots new town and just bulging out behind the 18th century "Old" village. Rain, hail or shine it sat proudly, promptly minding its own business like a gratified child with a new toy. Nothing disturbed it, nothing bothered it. It was the perfect place for thinking, the perfect place for relaxation. Beneath the monumental vertical drop lay the "Mouth" as it was called. This huge hole in the cliff happily gulped the greedy waves like a thirsty fish, always hungry for more, always ready to consume. Whether it was the smell of the farm-fresh tulips or the distinct noise from the crashing waves as they hit the grand rocks, Old Peakster hill got me thinking. It got me thinking about my life, about me. As I looked down at infinitesimal Wilmot, I noticed things that I had never saw before. My eyes were drawn to the splashes of colour oozing from the docks. Even if it was only the sunlight reflecting off the trawlers diesel it was a grand sight. The Golds and Blues shone out in particular giving the docks a majestic feel, for a few moments I was expecting the Queen to stride off her yacht, only to receive a rapturous applause from the antisocial fishermen, who we
The primary reason I always retreated to Old Peakster was for the quiet. Only the sounds of nature could be heard and even those were faint. The rustling of the grass and the tweeting of the birds couldn't distract me from my contentment. It was nature which brought me back for more. It made me feel at home, feel secure and feel part of the world. The freedom somehow validated my existence, the trees held out their branches helping me in the bad times. The over flowing grass spread itself lovingly inviting me to relax and put my feet up. The birds and wildlife always put on a performance to keep me entertained. The orchestra of robins and choir of sparrows sung in gracious harmony to the delight of my ears, prompting me to join in and experience the magic. The wildlife of Old Peakster had supernatural qualities, knowing how I felt and always doing its best to cheer me in such a way that draws you back for more. It was an enchanted kingdom, a world of its own and it was mine. As I climbed higher up the cliff, I sat under the shade of an oak tree as it slowly shed leaves preparing itself for the forthcoming Autumn. I looked down at the ever fading Wilmot as darkness spread itself over the dusty streets, covering the cobbled avenues like a dense blanket of soot. Just then, the sun breathed its last enlightened breath, and I slowly made my way down the cliff, my feet sweeping away the rejected leaves, leaving Old Peakster to prepare for a new season, a new dawn. re 20 minutes previous slamming her for stopping a days trade and curtailing their profits. ---------------------------
Some common words found in the essay are:
Farmer Rasdale's, Chillington Lake, , Peakster Summer, Golds Blues, Farmer Rasdale, Razza Farm, Mc Erlean, peakster hill, razza farm, lay farmer, filled air, farmer rasdale, eyes drawn, lay farmer rasdale's, farmer rasdale's,
Approximate Word count = 1074
Approximate Pages = 4 (250 words per page double spaced)
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