Narrative- Amazon Woman Essay examples -- Personal Narrative Writing

Narrative- Amazon WomanI need to recover a cycle per second in my heart that moves my luggage compartment first and my mind second, that allows my soul to invite up with me. I need to take a sacred pause, as if I were a sun-warmed rock in the center of a go river. I am crouching still near a tree on a loamy ridge, my two hands spread around the trunk. I am feeling grateful for this tree that I remember because of its fogyish smell and thick crevassed bark. It tells me that the beaver puddle is near where one color hanker shoots 100 feet up out of the tannic pissing, which means I am close to camp and food and sleep. I get to the pocket billiardss edge, across from the point where my tent sits. There are no trails and the boreal forest is thick with scrub pine and dead-fall. Early good afternoon sun brings out the wave of deer fevasivenesss I waver my heading so that my two braids might hit the little buggers in mid-air. Undeterred, one begins to chew on my shoulder blade a nd prickers dig into my shins. I can run through my tent across the pond, 100 yards as the vaporing flies, probably a mile walk around the edge. I check to take off my clothes, leave them on this rock by the shore, move across and come cover version for my things later in my canoe. Even though the whine of the deer flies wings beating around my head intensifies, I just stare at the water. It is only two feet compact here at the edge, but it is so dark that I cannot see the bottom. Darker shapes appear as I stare, including a large fallen pine tree which leads from the shore and disappears into the darkness. A fear takes hold of me, as it does all time I contemplate diving into this dark water. I push my head to loosen its grip, feel a deer fly agriculture on the small of my back and I dive. I swim as hard as I can, my heart bang... ...Today I am grinning wide and proud of this body that carried boat and gear down to the waters edge that paddled against the wind across the bay to the foot of the wetland stream. The body that hoisted the laden canoe over five beaver damns, that carried boat and canoe up the trail for a mile to the secret pond that sleeps well in a tent alone out here audition to the hoot owl, and the loons and the cacophony of bullfrog music the body that jerks upright at midnight with the sound of a bucks snort and heavy stamp of his hoof the body that gets up early and bushwhacks to the top of the mountain. I lie down on the warm rock at the edge of the pond and I close my eyes. My breath feels easy and light, my belly is soft and where a hard gnarled knot used to be under my sternum, a warmth spreads beyond my skin, around the blue sky and sun and back in again.