REWRITING A BAD ESSAY Using your newly acquired poetic skills ✓ Solved

Using your newly acquired poetic skills, rewrite this essay to make it more colorful and creative. You will need to re-order the events and make the events stand out more. Use imagery. Use metaphors. Use similes. Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.

One significant experience I had was when I camped out in the wilderness with my dad for two weeks last summer. That was a very buggy experience, but more than the left-over scars from branch wounds and brambles are left with me. I think I grew up on that trip. I had never camped before and now my father thought it would be good for us to bond, away from civilization. We packed and headed out not for a camp ground with tent sites and shower rooms.

We headed for the back regions of swamps and raspberry bushes, at least a thousand miles from home and regular communication. We actually had to walk into the pond where we would set up our home-away-from home. What a trek, it was terrible, and when we finally arrived, I was already set to leave. But, no. We had to unpack our gear, prepare the ground, put up the tent, and then think about food.

That wasn’t going to be a quick trip to the frig for ice cream and soda. We needed a camp fire, a place to put our staples so bears wouldn’t get into them, and the meal itself—trout. That meant we had to get our fishing gear ready and wade out to the depth so cold streams and running leeches! YUCK. It was a good 45 minutes later, while the sun set and the flies bit, that we got our first bites.

I was able to get two trout, and dad finished off with two more. We gutted them and fried them—delicious, I must say. It was then we sat and talked over the plans for the next day. Those two weeks were difficult. I had to do everything from scratch, even build my own out house.

I had to carry water, find berries, get wood for the fire, dry out wet clothes from a night of rain, even mend things that broke, like my fishing pole. I learned something about myself. I could survive. I didn’t need my cell phone or my TV or my CDs, even my friends and my car to get along. Things might not have been the most luxurious for me out in the back country of nowhere, but I was doing pretty well with a full stomach, good sleep, invigorating exercise, and yep, a book, which dad had insisted I bring along.

I also had dad. He and I had never really talked like we did over those two weeks. It’s amazing how many things had been left unsaid over the years after he divorced my mom. He told me about how much the divorce hurt, how he and mom had met and fell in love, how much he loved me. I got to ask him what caused the divorce, how he felt about being with me know, how he felt about mom, and his new wife.

He explained it all, and it made some sense. The divorce didn’t happen out of no-where. There had been problems even before I was born. And, they didn’t hate me or each other. They had good and bad feelings and memories, just like I did.

I began to see my dad, and my mom, too, through different eyes, and I saw them as people apart from me. That was a revelation, an adult one, that it wasn’t all about me and that things don’t stay the same or perfect all the time. When dad and I left the woods, we were still sweating and the deer flies were still biting, but I felt different, I was stronger. And, that strength was something that came not only from knowing how to cook my own food, lug armfuls of wood three or four times a day, and make my own safe and cozy place in the world, no matter where. It came from an inner sense of seeing things as they are.

Life isn’t just out of a magazine with the best appliances and the nicest furniture. There are other things in life, like dirty floors, and relationships that don’t always work, and meals that have to be made. But, that’s not all bad.

Paper For Above Instructions

Amidst the rustling leaves and whispering winds, memory stirs, calling from the heart of the wilderness. The summer sun, a golden coin, was flung into the sky as I ventured into the vast embrace of nature with my father. It was not merely an escape from the clutches of civilization; it was a journey, a pilgrimage, a rite of passage, rich with adventures and lessons like ripe berries waiting to be picked.

This rugged odyssey began far from manicured campgrounds, where the concrete jungle gives way to the wild heart of swamps and thickets, where raspberry bushes hug the tangled trails. With our packs heavy like the burdens of unspoken words, we waded into the murky waters that cradled our dreams, our refuge. Each step forward felt like traversing a thousand miles of uncertainty, each squelch of mud beneath my sandals a reminder of my own apprehension. Yet, once we set foot on the island, it dawned on me that retreat was not an option now—a makeshift home awaited our touch.

Unpacking gear became a rite of assembly, a ceremonial act as we erected our tent beneath the watchful gaze of towering trees. Gone were the trivialities of cold drinks and effortless meals; here, the fire crackled with promise, the flame a flickering guardian of warmth against the encroaching chill. Our first dinner was not merely sustenance; it was a tribute to the wild. Armed with rods, we plunged into the icy river, a baptism of sorts, greeting the squirming leeches, the little vampires of the water. Each tug on the line was a heartbeat, each catch a triumph, life pulsing as we celebrated our conquest over nature.

As evening cloaked the sky in indigo silk, we roasted our catch, the scent wafting like fragrant memories, igniting conversations that had long been imprisoned in silence. With each bite of golden trout, we feasted not just on food but on stories—the ones wrapped in layers of pain and love that my father had carried. The tales of my parents' love, like intertwined branches, became a narrative that soothed the jagged edges of my young heart. In those moments, as the flames danced like spirits, I began to understand the complexities of love and loss, how my father bore the scars of his divorce with quiet dignity.

The wilderness brought clarity, like a cleansing rain washing away the dust of misunderstanding. No longer was I just a boy under his father's guidance; I transformed into a partner in this dance of survival. I built an outhouse, a humble throne of privacy and necessity. I carried water as if it were liquid gold, scavenging for berries that burst with nature's sweetness, and gathered firewood, each piece a testament to my growing resilience. It was here, under an unwavering sky, that I discovered the strength of my spirit, a revelation that swirled within me like the autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind.

Gone were the cumbersome weights of devices and distractions. The chirping crickets serenaded me, the beauty of the barren floors and the imperfection of nature became my new norm. Life, I learned, was painted in hues beyond pristine walls and modern luxuries—filled with dirt and chores, yet rich with bonding moments that forged connections deeper than any app could provide.

Two weeks fled like fleeting shadows, and as we emerged from the woods, the world buzzed with familiarity—but I felt changed. No longer did I see my father merely as a parent, but as a man who had his own dreams, fears, and regrets. The understanding that love exists amid imperfections settled in my chest, a permanent imprint.

Returning from that journey, I carried not just memories but a fire ignited by the wilderness—a fire that taught me to navigate life's wild terrains with grace and empathy. Relationships, like the forest, are not without their struggles; they demand commitment, nurture, and above all, the will to understand each other as individuals beyond our shared ties. In this chaotic tapestry of life, I had found a little more of myself, anchored firmly in the knowledge that strength blooms from the wounds of experience.

References

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