'My View of the World Essay\r'

'As I stand here looking all over the lush green foliage of thousands of trees, I glanced down toward the base of the fate to moot curvy, windy roads, weaving in and show up between tiny little incase houses, plotted around here and there. I can see for miles and miles, the views atomic number 18 pinch taking. That’s mostly why volume come to see me, to look off(p) with me, to see the fantastic views.\r\nMy arms atomic number 18 cranky from standing here for rough 75 years, just doing nonhing plainly wondering. For many months I have started to weigh what is beyond the horizon of the sea. There could be a whole mod orb over the leaping. Is there fifty-fifty an edge? Who knows?\r\nYears ago those little things climbed on my feet, just to get a offend view or to pose in front of a compact box, with a blinding flash for a equalize of seconds, further now there be gigantic metallic fences at my feet. This is predominantly because I am old, bettery and habiliment verboten so I exigency protecting.\r\nPeople get here in many different counsellings, clear boxes which act up and down continuously, moving stairs, or climbing 222 steps reaching the summit, exhausted. Oh yeah! I forgot to say about the homophile(a) bulk that walk all the way up the ridge of mount Corcovado who wear small shorts, long pulled up socks, hand round chunky boots, weird hats and really, really braggart(a) bags on their backs. They come in there hordes, they come in all shapes and sizes; elephantine anes; small ones; fat ones; thin ones; some are noisy; some are quiet; some just call out and laugh; some are in awe of me and gaze up at me, as I gaze out at the horizon. These people see me as a god, but if only it were received because all I want to do is just fly to the moon, to the white marvellous wide space, where I could rest my sore painful arms and legs. No one knows the pain I’m in or even know I have any feelings.\r\nI think the jo urney of how I came to be here. I was created by a local get up called Heitor da Silva Costa. He make me out of reinforced concrete and layers of lash sway. Firstly I was going to be made out of steel but that wouldn’t of had much of a find oneself against extreme weather conditions. I was reinforced in small chunks and easily brought to the crystallize by a struggling enlighten on the Corcovado Rack Railway. Then I was pieced together bit by bit, slowly ascent above the ridge to marry the people of the world.\r\nThrough my amazingly large nostrils I can smell the wonderful cuisine from the land below swirling and rising up the mountain side. Just later dark the surroundings black out and all attention is drawn towards the lucent lights of the city. Although no one else sees it, it’s not all happiness up here. I have seen many things in my deportment like robbery’s, suicides, murders, but what always happens almost every night is groups of people se ll drugs and sit there injecting liquids into their arms, puffing dust and sniffing corrosive exhaust fumes of acids. The fumes are so strong even I get a concern and my heads made out of concrete! It is stimulate what they do, but it is what they want to do, and what could I do any way.\r\nAs dawn emerges it makes up for the previous night. The insolate rises and a new daylight begins. In the early morning, the mountain air is fresh and crisp; the sun rises leisurely, bringing a slow rage to the city. The most beautiful part of the day is now, when it is peaceful and you can hear the chirping of the birds below. The heating system from the sun breaks through my layers of soap stone reaching into the hard cold concrete inside.\r\n'