My View of the World Essay

As I stand here viewing over the lush green leafage of thousands of trees, I glanced down toward the base of the bay window to see curvy, windy roads, interweave in and forth between tiny little box houses, plan around here and on that point. I sack up see for miles and miles, the views are breather taking. Thats mostly why people come to see me, to look proscribed with me, to see the fantastic views.My arms are sore from stand up here for about 75 years, just doing no minuteg but wondering. For more another(prenominal) months I have started to think what is beyond the horizon of the sea. There could be a whole new world over the edge. Is there however an edge? Who knows?Years ago those little things climbed on my feet, just to swallow a better view or to pose in reckon of a compact box, with a blinding flash for a couple up of seconds, but now there are large metallic fences at my feet. This is predominantly because I am old, weary and wearing out so I need protect ing.People get here in many different ways, clear boxes which travel up and down continuously, moving stairs, or climbing 222 steps comer the summit, exhausted. Oh yeah I forgot to say about the odd people that walk all the way up the rooftree of mount Corcovado who wear meek shorts, long pulled up socks, big roly-poly boots, weird hats and really, really big bags on their backs. They come in there hordes, they come in all shapes and sizes big ones small ones fat ones thin ones some(a) are noisy some are quiet some just scream and laugh some are in idolatry of me and gaze up at me, as I gaze out at the horizon. These people see me as a god, but if just it were true because all I regard to do is just tent-fly to the moon, to the white wonderful wide space, where I could rest my sore poignant arms and legs. No one knows the pain Im in or even know I have any feelings.I remember the journey of how I came to be here. I was created by a local engineer called Heitor da Silva Cost a. He made me out of reinforced concrete and layers of soap stone. Firstly I was going to be made out of steel but that wouldnt of had much of a chance against extreme weather conditions. I was built in small chunks and tardily brought to the top by a struggling train on the Corcovado Rack Railway. Then I was pieced together bit by bit, lately rising above the ridge to embrace the people of the world.Through my surprisingly large nostrils I can smell the wondrous cuisine from the work below swirling and rising up the mountain side. Just after tenebrific the surroundings black out and all attention is drawn towards the vivid lights of the city. Although no one else sees it, its not all happiness up here. I have seen many things in my life like lootings, suicides, murders, but what always happens almost every night is groups of people dole out drugs and sit there injecting liquids into their arms, snorting dust and sniffing corrosive fumes of acids. The fumes are so strong even I get a headache and my heads made out of concrete It is disgusting what they do, but it is what they want to do, and what could I do any way.As dawn emerges it makes up for the antecedent night. The sun rises and a new day begins. In the early morning, the mountain air is fresh and crisp the sun rises leisurely, bringing a slow warmth 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 heat from the sun breaks through my layers of soap stone reaching into the hard cold concrete inside.