My father always thought of fishing as a bonding ritual. His father had taught him fishing at a young age of six. The two of them would go off to a serene lake on a Sunday afternoon and return home empty-handed. They did not want to kill the fish as my father told me when I reached the age of incessant questioning. "That was not the point of fishing," he had explained.
One morning, it was determined that I had taken enough swimming lessons to be able to rescue both my father and myself in the case of an emergency, and I was allowed to go fishing with my father. I wanted to pick out special clothes, but my father said I looked fine in my khakis and polo shirt. He did give me a beige visor—a bit too big for my face—to guard against the sun. That morning, he drove me in the sedan while my little brother and sister stayed home with Mom.
Father spoke to me in his soothing baritone voice during the drive. "To think about nothing is important once in a while," he said. "You will know when you grow up."
But I had thought fishing was my transition into adulthood. My hurried wish to grow up had pushed me into optimism at the age of eleven. As if my father could read my thoughts he said, "You are almost there, my boy."
We took the scenic route to the lake. We passed the woods, the rolling hills, and approached the much talked about lake. There was sunlight—thrown in silver sprinkles on the water. I helped my father unload the fishing rods and the cooler into the boat. We met the center of the river in silence. I suspended my fishing rod in the air feeling overwhelmed and satisfied by the beauty all around me. I had understood why my father did not bring the fish home.

What type of language does the author use to create a peaceful mood?
A.
humorous
B.
scholarly
C.
descriptive
D.
sarcastic