Portrait of a Dancer It was a sweet-as-molasses, sleepy Sunday afternoon in the middle of July. The heat was especially torrid as I walked in direct sunlight along the road leading to the water's edge. I was cooled by a gentle breeze as I drew closer to the small lapping waves and left the towering house farther behind me. When my grandfather had first moved into his new house, I was overwhelmed by its looming presence. All wood and glass and art deco elegance, it seemed too polished. He bought it so that his huge family would have the space to be together ....

Words In Essay: 1066 Approximate Pages: 4

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