BÀI LUẬN TIẾNG ANH HAY a close brush with death

BÀI LUẬN TIẾNG ANH HAY THEO CHỦ ĐỀ
BÀI LUẬN TIẾNG ANH HAY
A close brush with death

It was raining cats and dogs. Fortunately we were in a car and my uncle, who was driving, had
the situation under control.
We passed slowly by an oil-palm estate. The driving rain made visibility poor. So my uncle
drove very carefully. He had all the lights on. So did the other drivers. I could make out little
blobs of light on the other cars through the white sheet of rain.
Overhead, black clouds hovered ominously. It felt as though they were about to fall on us at any
moment. Lightning streaked across the sky and onto the distant hills. The ensuing thunder
rumbled unceasingly. Some flashes of lightning came uncomfortably close and the resulting
thunderclap was deafening, even with all our windows up.
All of a sudden a bright flash of light blinded us and a very loud crack made melose my
bearings. The next thing I knew was that my uncle had stopped the car and his face was pale
with shock. I too was in shock. What had happened?
For a long agonising moment I struggled to collect my scattered wits. Then my uncle pointed a
trembling finger at something outside the car. I looked in the direction and saw an oil-palm some
ten metres away literally split in half through the middle. It was scorched black and smoking. I
then realised that it had just been struck by lightning.
If the lightning had struck us instead, we would be scorched black and smoking too. Still
trembling, my uncle quickly drove away from the danger zone. We had just had a close brush
with death. It was close, too close for comfort.



rain cats and dogs

rain very heavily

ominously

suggesting that something unpleasant is likely to happen



lose one's bearings

lose one's position or situation relative to one's surroundings