descriptive essay

One winter afternoon, while I am doing my homework and listening to the radio, I hear Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven,” an old, romantic song that drew me back to an earlier, innocent time in my life. Every time I hear this song, the sweet memories of my far away childhood home arise in me. I close my eyes, and I see my home and my room, a place where I had spent my childhood.

Walking down the hall of my early home, I first pass the kitchen. Through a small windowpane, I observe the cozy kitchen. As I walk inside it, opposite from me, there is a white, wooden cupboard. At the center of the kitchen, there is a big table covered with a white and red check tablecloth with six stools next to it. There is a huge window with a lace-curtain. To my left, there is a hidden door; this is a tiny larder, where my grandmother used to gather candied fruits and other foods full of flavor. When I was a girl, I liked to play in the kitchen, and my grandma always gave me a whole set of kitchen accessories such as, ladle, rolling pin, whisk, or grater with which to play house.

The second room I pass is a spacious living room where guests to which were always invited. Its interior looks ancient, and a mirror covers a whole wall giving an effect of a bigger room. A thick, red-brown carpet lies on the glittering parquet floor. There is massive furniture made from an oaken, dark wood with a porcelain tea set inside it. The little house of matches, which was made by my grandpa, attracts a substantial attention that is put on the highest top of the shelf. The whole room reminds me the family parties. My heart starts beating faster and stronger as I approach the unique room, my room

Finally, I enter my room which reminds me of me innocent years. Every corner of this room speaks to me; I have memories in every inch of this room. I glance over at the wall that whitens in my eyes. There are few pictures on the wall and a few posters. One of the pictures shows a young, fair lady playing the piano. She has thick, golden curls. She is dressed in a grommet dress with a blue satin bonnet tied beneath her snow-white neck. Taking a closer look, I recognize the woman from the picture. This is my dearest grandma. On another wall is a floral clock. There is also a big window with curtains tied with silk tied, pink ribbons.

I look at a queen bed that is in the center of the room. The soft, comfortable bed covers a baby pink coverlet which once had bright flowers on it, but from use and time, the coverlet has been faded. These flowers are now barely visible. The coverlet’s smell reminds me of the past. When I was a little girl, this bedspread used to cover and protect me from the monsters; however, when I grew up, it just kept me warm when nights were cooling down. Above the bed, the soulful eyes of a pair of owls gaze out form a poster. Stuffed toys lie in no particular order. A tiger with frayed fur and faded stripes sits proudly on the top of a pillow.

Beside the bed are two things by which I had spent the most of my time. First thing is a smooth, pale wooden desk with a small desk lamp on it. The black swivel chair, tired of being spun around and around so many times, is located next to the desk. Sharpened colored pencils lie on the desk. I always used this desk when I was doing my homework. Across the desk is my lovely dressing table with a round mirror and the fragrance of perfume. On the dressing table, there is a small jewelry box with a little, porcelain ballerina doll on top.

Abruptly, the door closes; the images of my room vanish. The song on the radio has stopped playing. Childhood has given way to my present life in a different world.