My Descriptive Writing
The Secret Door.
There is a door.
The door is covered in Ivy leaves.
As I brush the leaves away I see that the door is
concrete.
I wonder where it leads.
As I wonder I notice there is a giant rusty padlock.
I see that the padlock is not locked up properly.
I slowly push the door open and as
I do it creaks softly.
Behind the door there is a beautiful garden.
I see golden daffodils, velvet purple pansies, blood red roses and others
that I had never seen before.
I walked through the garden stepping carefully
on the bumpy cobble stones.
I notice an apple tree.
I walk slowly over to it.
I see a cross underneath it and I walk
slowly towards it curious to find out
why it is there.
I brush back the grass that covers the writing.
It is hard to read but I notice the words
“In Loving Memory”.
There are a few flowers in vases around the cross.
I see that the flowers have died.
The cross must have been there a long time.
I notice the date 1958.
I slowly walk back across the cobblestones.
I decided that this garden could be my little secret.
By Bridie McNamara.
