Green Patch Beach

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a draft for a descriptive writing assignment. It's not due for a few days, so a bit of feedback would be really appreciated. I'm actually not very happy with the quality of this piece, becuase I wrote the majority of it on a rainy Wednesday afternoon (with about 30 minutes of sleep the night before). I've gone back through and fleshed it out a little bit, but I'd really appreciate some more feedback before I submit it.

Submitted: April 20, 2007

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Submitted: April 20, 2007



The sun rolled over the smooth horizon like a ripe peach, illuminating the thin, crystal waves that crashed gently on the shore. Thin, wispy clouds glowed like saffron in the sky. Rainbow lorikeets chattered cheerfully in the bushland behind me, attacking the eucalyptus blossoms with gusto. The air was fresh and still.

In the shallow bay, a small yacht rocked gently, held fast by its submerged anchor. A tanker slowly traversed the horizon, starkly visible against the glaring sun. I sat and watched as it finally disappeared behind a cliff, where the ocean and the land met perpendicularly. Waves thrashed against the dark rock, foaming brightly in the morning sun.

A tiny aeroplane puttered overhead, its white wings vaguely discernible against the pale sky. A red beacon glimmered weakly on its belly. It pulled itself slowly through the air until it vanished in the distance.

As I stood up, the fine white sand flowed between my toes, rippling and writhing over my feet like water. With my hands in my pockets, I wandered along the shore, letting the waves lap at my ankles. Tiny transparent jellyfish, too small to sting, were deposited gently on the sand like glittering diamonds, only to be greedily reclaimed by the next wave.

I passed the lagoon, where the roots of melaleuca trees had stained the water as brown as tea. The old wooden bridge, bleached grey by decades of relentless sun, loomed precariously above the shallow stretch of brackish water.

As I made my way around the gentle curve of the beach, a gentle wind started to blow, and the powdery sand lashed playfully against my legs with an effervescent sensation. The sun was well and truly awake now, bathing the ocean in golden light. On the horizon, the misty burst of a whale’s blowhole broke the glassy water, followed seconds later by a black, lumbering tail.

In a crusty pit away from the tide line, the remains of a fire smouldered feebly around, the sand around it blackened and disturbed. Harsh smoke hung cloyingly in the air, making my nose twitch.

A surfer, perhaps a year my senior, was walking towards me. He clasped his white surfboard to his side. He wore only shorts, and as he passed, I noticed the sand and water clinging to his smooth, bronze chest. I smiled and stole a glance at his athletic form before he passed me completely.

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