This was the first paragraph in an essay I had to write for a school paper.

The icy mist stung my face, and the bridge beneath me swung in the mountain breeze as I overlooked miles of sweeping landscape. This was Grandfather mountain, and just below was the small town of Banner Elk. It is the kind town where everyone knows everyone and the general store is run by your next door neighbor. To my left were open rocks, where one misplaced foot could land you thousands of feet below. To my right was the cheesy gift shop. Every tourist place has one. One foot in and you can sense the children's excitement and see each over-priced mug or magnet or whatever. Where I stand, people are rushing by, hurry to get to their next destination, not stopping to see the real beauty of where they are. If only they could see the old, deteriorated barn down in the valley, surrounded by cows and rolling hills, or the endless sea of gray mountains that seems to never end. People take beauty for granted. They call it Grandfather mountain because if you lookat it in just the right way, it looks like the outline of an old man's face. Most people don't even realize this when they look at it, even for me, it took a lot of looking to see how this worked. This is a place full of peace and full of beauty, if only people could see.