Reflective Piece

“Oh, do not ask, What is it? Let us go and make our visit.”- T. S. Eliot.

This quote illustrates the individuality of writing, especially in the course of creative writing. Although this quote immediately seems to only portray a motive of a tactile lifestyle, it also is extremely relevant to the idea of writing your own ideas and beliefs. Instead of just comprehending or accepting the concept of other writers’ ideals, I always try to make them my own. Most of the time, trying to start from complete scratch with just my mind and a blank page.

This is especially why I loved the independent pieces, which enabled me to promote my unique style, motives, and experiences. Even when we were given tasks of trying to imitate amazing writers such as Hemingway, Vonnegut, and Fitzgerald, I always tried to throw my own twist, or concept into the piece of literature. I wanted to “make my own visit” in to the story, and derive my own skills from it as I attempted it. If I tried to follow the model too much, the creativity of the literature, and most important, the class, was gone.

In class, sometimes I might search through other’s blogs to view their ideas and style, but I never tried to follow. In my writing, I want to be in complete control, just like a dictator in a totalitarian government. Certainly there needs to be influences, because that is, in my view, the main purpose of writing to begin with, but without creativity and individuality, literature would never live free; never progress.

My influences, without a doubt, come from my past experiences, which, even at my age, seem endless beyond belief. From learning to ride my bike, my lives piece, to just hanging out with my friends, to even going on vacation, I could write about almost anything. However, there has to be meaning. I feel a story is nothing unless there is an ideal, motive, reason, desire, philosophy, or just something that the piece of work has been built off. With my poems and independents, I tried extremely hard to put forth an internal meaning, that the reader could interpret in their own way, just like I did, independently and creatively.

Creative writing has certainly helped me grow as writer, and helped my grade along the way. I never thought I was a great writer, good at best, and I still don’t, but I surely have had more experience and forward seems the only place to go. If I focus more on writing, I have the will power to hopefully reach many accomplishments in the field, even if it’s just better grades on my essays. I feel I’ve gotten the most out of my writing through the course, and am very thankful I chose to stay with it.

Independent Piece # 6

The bright numbers on the clock read 6:30 AM, but Maxwell didn’t want to waste a minute of his short weekend vacation up in Maine. Maxwell struggled, but successfully pushed himself out of bed and into the shower. He quickly whipped up some eggs, since the cabin lay 25 miles from any sort of necessities or civilization, and packed for his daily quest. This would be the last of his three-day weekend because, unfortunately, Monday was back to the office and the monotonous life that had imprisoned him. However, for now, he was still free, and with his large backpack, hiking boots, and hunting gun he was on his way.

The second Max stepped out the door; he knew there was a troubling day ahead of him. Even though it was incredibly bright as usual, dark clouds lingered towards the west. There was probably only a few hours left of sunshine left before the rain poured in, but Maxwell ignored the eventual disaster and jumped on the all-terrain-vehicle in the driveway. Max rode vigorously along a steeping path, making sure to keep the creek in sight at all times for navigation, until the woods became too overpowering to drive through.

Maxwell jumped off and began walking through the terrain; cliffs, ledges, swamps, waterfalls, the landscape had it all. After struggling along for a couple hours, Max looked for a good place to set up camp for the day before he went on his hunt. Setting up camp in the wilderness for Max was as easy as counting numbers, and the tent, just incase there was any rain, went up within seconds. Next was the fire pit and crumpled up newspaper he would need for the fire. Firewood was the only thing missing, so he picked up his rifle, just incase he saw dinner lingering around, and traveled west.

Since the previous days had been extremely dry, good wood was easy to come by. Within 50 yards of the campsite he obtained more than enough for the day, but he didn’t want to go back yet. He kept walking along, but unlike the previous adventures, he had never been in this part of the region. However, nothing in nature phased Maxwell; he felt as powerful as the president when he strolled through those woods with his expensive boots and loaded rifle.

Max’s incredible knack for hunting would prevail again as Max, out of the corner of the eye, got a glimpse of a few deer loitering in the distance. Max got his rile ready and began to jog, making sure to avoid the crackle of leaves. However, leaves crackling would not even be close to the thundering noise of the ground suddenly collapsing under Maxwell. It felt as if the ground, like wood, just broke from under him. Max fell at least eight feet, and this time, he could not avoid a cracking sound.
Max lay in the ditch, ankle broken, with no way of escaping this imprisoning whole. Max felt water drip down his face and saw the enormous black clouds that lay overhead. Max tried to get his mind off death, think of his great past, but it was meaningless – every time he looked up, he realized death was inevitable.

Pop Culture Piece

How to successfully ruin every single chip shot in a round of golf

My drive was tremendous; perfectly straight, at least 200 yards, twenty yards from the hole, and only ten yards from the green. I grabbed the lob wedge and studied the terrain. I got in my stance and tried to just swing and let the club do the work, but the outcome wasn’t pretty. The ball soared on the ground, bounced twice on the green, and deep into the woods beyond it.

Chipping: It looks easy, sounds easy, but it’s certainly my worst skill in all of sports. Everything could be going superb, and then the chip shot comes along. As I reach for that club with a P, or some random degree number, I’m already disappointed. After the shot, disappointment usually evolves into frustration. As many of you probably know, golfing and frustration never go too well together.

Now it makes sense that if someone keeps practicing the same way to chip shots, they will eventually succeed. But without the patience, time, or even the money, I have completely refused to attempt this method. So I turned too advice and tried to get as much as possible.

When I finally decided to give up on finding the ball in the woods, and take a drop, another chip shot lay ahead of me. “Keep your arms straight…” my friend yells from the green. I take my swing, my arms as stiff as possible, and the ball moves about 2 feet. Maybe I just didn’t get under it I thought and I immediately swung again. This time the ball soared high in the air and for a second I thought it was a great shot, but not in this world. Again, I was right where I took my first chip, twenty yards from the hole, and ten from the green.

I could avoid the chip shot as much as possible, but on the fourth hole I was at it again. This time, even shorter, as I carefully counted the yardage: two from the green, eleven from the hole. “Open your stance this time man. That’s all I do,” the best golfer in our group advised me. His ball had dramatically placed itself a foot from the cup, after a perfect back-spinning chip. All I wanted to do was put it on the green, and tried his idea.

The ball merely dribbled two feet and I immediately began continuously smashing the pitching wedge into the ground. Through out the rest of the round, I heard sayings like “just chip it like it was soccer”, or “swing harder”, and when I did, “don’t swing as hard”. By the end of the eighteen holes, I had roughly taken a total of fifteen chip shots, and miraculously one had turned out right – I would even par the whole.

Why can’t I just imitate what I did on that shot, well I couldn’t tell you what I did. It was the last hole of the day, and I patience and confidence had been not just thrown out the window, but burned to a crisp. I just swung my club and the ball took the perfect bounce and somehow rolled in.

I guess chipping comes down to an art like a soft touch in basketball, or throwing a curveball in baseball. No matter how many times it tries be taught, everyone has to learn within themselves the technique to success. Unfortunately, by the time I get good at chipping, my putting skills will probably have disappeared.

Independent Piece # 5

This piece is a poem that I just started writing in calculus class one day. The idea came to me in english when we discussed if money can bing happiness, so I decided to write about money and it's dramatic effect on society. In the poem money is basically the symbol for someone's economic standard in soceity and if they don't strive to find more, they will fail. But if they strive too much and become ambitious, they will usually fail as well. It seems like a weird poem, and could probably flow much nicer, but I didn't have to want to change some of the key words I used.

Money: the epitome of society
The evil being hidden in the world
The weakness lingering in every human
Yet, it’s the spark to civilization
Money is the basis by what we live
Money brought society together
Like cement filling the cracks in a building
And it keeps the world moving forward
Just like the need for gasoline in a plane
But money is flawed
It leads to crime, greed, ambition, and
Countless negative qualities that humans often try to avoid
Yet again, money is the basis by what we live
It can’t be ignored
To live in this world as we know it,
Someone must go after money when the opportune time is there
Jail, death, or failure are the only other options
The capture of this green, thin paper is essential to move on
However sometimes, it only brings out the evil in all of us

Independent Piece # 4

Shivers shot down Nick’s spin as he nervously made the 20-foot walk up to the plate. If you ever ask him, he’ll say it felt like 10 minutes before he finally dug in for the first pitch. Now nineteen, Nick had taken this walk from the on-deck circle to the plate thousands of times before, but this was different. This was Division one baseball for the Florida State Seminoles. The team had already won their first two away games of the season, and now Nick would finally get his first chance, in the home opener for that matter. Surprisingly, the thousands of fans that filled the roaring stadium didn’t bother Nick. It was the old man, his father; sitting quietly behind the dugout with that usual, stern look across his face.

Nick’s father, Richard, never approved of his son’s involvement in baseball, and actually, even despised the sport of baseball itself. Nick had been trying to impress the man his whole life, but high school records, a banner in the gym, and even a full scholarship to an excellent school were just not good enough. Continuously, Richard would boast on about becoming a doctor, a lawyer, and doing something with your life, but Nick never lost sight of his dream.

Finally, Nick stepped into the batter box, and began his usual routine. His stomach felt like a continuous drop on a roller coaster that was never going to end but Nick ignored it. His legs had been trembling for the past half hour, but now this was it. He looked in, and a second later, swung the wood bat as hard as he could. Another second later he was out of he batter so angry with himself he could have committed suicide by accident. Down one strike in the count, he again stared in. The words of wait for your pitch, wait for your pitch, ran through his head until the umpire ecstatically yelled, “STRIKE TWO”! Nick had just been completely fooled by the outside corner.“I had no idea that was coming…” Nick mumbled under his breath, but it didn’t matter. Nick tightened his batting gloves and dug his cleats even more into the dirt. He choked up on the bat, and began waving it behind his head until the pitcher was set. Then the pitch as Nick lifted up his left foot, swung forward, and bunted the ball down the first base line. Nick sprinted down that first base line, and for some reason, the memories of childhood wiffleball in his friends backyard was the only thing on his mind. He thought of the summer days filled with numerous hours of wiffleball that always ended in arguments, but it was still the greatest memory of baseball he contained. Instantly, his day dream was interrupted by the first base umpire. “Safe”, he enthusiastically yelled, and roars and cheers shot up around the stadium. Nick felt like a 12-year-old getting his first hit ever in little league who couldn’t wait to tell everyone about it, but everybody had seen it. As Nick looked around the stadium, even his father was up on his feet, applauding, with a huge grin across his face.

Piece # 11 Haiku

a lunchroom
full of life
forever

packed school
testing week
tension

young boy
fighting to
get through

Piece # 10 - Extended Metaphor

The pressure had escalated
He could no longer take it
The lunchroom,
full of noise and life,
But not this boy,
Who sat quietly by himself,
Wondering what could be
Another day of kids screaming,
Jumping, playing, but not with him
The jokes, the hatred, the loneliness,
Had finally seeped through his skin and
Made it’s way to his heart and soul
It, the pressure to meet the enormous standard, was too difficult
It had all at once risen up
And struck him like an anaconda
Quickly, powerfully, and with no sense of failure
He only saw one option, and
This time, it was easy to succeed

Piece # 9 Microfiction

It can’t get much worse then being grounded on vacation, but that’s what these Brandon and his closest friend, Toby, were facing. Vacationing in New Hampshire Brandon, a stubborn boy, stared gloomily out his window from his bedroom. He saw the huge lake shimmering in the sunlight and small waves flowing through it– yet it was so free of conflict.

“Toby, we need to get out of here. I got an idea.” Toby, merely half his size, wasn’t that enthused. Toby gave Brandon a look and with escalating confidence Brandon pointed at a window, “We’re getting out!”

He opened the window quickly. He couldn’t wait. He pushed the screen through and told Toby to go out first. Toby jumped through, landing perfectly safe in the outside world. Brandon took a deep breath and climbed out the portal hole, closing it behind him.

Brandon ran to catch up, but Toby was already in the water. Brandon began to walk along and skip rocks. Then suddenly, Brandon heard he crackle of the leaves behind him, quickly turned and saw his mother. Brandon called for Toby as he made his way back to the house, but he was nowhere to be found. “At least the dog gets to have some fun,” Brandon mumbled jealously.

Lives Piece

I gleamed as my Dad pulled into the “yellow park”, as I called it, with my bike in the trunk and a box of soon to be used band-aids. My mom, skeptical about the whole idea at my young age, stayed home. I could imagine my mom perfectly: nervous and anxious on the inside, but only illustrating signs of outrage, while she lingers around the kitchen, eating everything in sight.

Suddenly the car came to a screeching halt, rudely interrupting my daydream, but for something even. In seconds I was on top of a gradually sloping hill, my father next to me standing tall, while each of us clenched the bike. This was it. I sat down on the bike and my dad let it go and down the bike and I went, right to the pavement at my father’s feet. I shook it off, elbow and knee already scraped right off the bat, and gave it another try. I guess my dad realized there I wasn’t ready for the hill, so he picked up the bike, and turned it around. Now I faced a long, almost perfectly straight path, with not an inch of down or uphill. This time, I even got the pedals moving, but keeping the bike straight at the same time, no way. After a few seconds, I lay on the pavement; chin gushing blood and a gigantic, throbbing bruise on my right arm. My dad motioned toward he car, but I refused; it be just like giving into my mother. “One more try!” I yelled. Just as skeptical as my mom had been, he complied.

My father sets up the bike and I painfully, but full of determination, make my way over. “One, two, THREE,” and then I was pedaling with all the effort in the world. My mind was so clear as I round an impossible turn and fly up a tremendously difficult hill. After just two minutes, which felt like hours, of winding through the park with invigorating wind crashing in my face, I reached my father, and it was over. But it wasn’t over. The skill to ride a bike, that accomplishment, that fulfillment, would never escape me.

From that moment on, anything was possible.

I jumped back into the car, blood and bruises from my chin to my knees, but I had never felt better. The following weeks would be full of bigger goals, larger obstacles, and tons of injuries: there was never a limit.

Independent Piece # 3

I wanted to write a poem that didn't rhyme, but for some reason that's really hard for me. I feel like I can't make it flow, which I focused on greatly in this poem. It's more like a rap then a poem, because its what I usually listen to. I would have wrote more, but I didn't want to drag it on with unimportant lines that just repeated the meaning, which was basically someone who wanted more out of life. I just wrote an essay on Fahrenheit 451, where someone is trying to find his identity, so this poem basically built off of that. I feel the poem does a great job of getting the point across, and flows very nicely and efficiently.

Is this all?
Is my life just fame and basketball?
I need an identity
I’m tired of serenity
No, war ain’t on my mind
It’s too easy to find
I don’t want to fight
But there must be something out there, right?
I mean, it’s now or never
I don’t gotta be clever
To know I won’t live forever
I imagine what more there could be
Its gotta work out, perfectly
No matter how long I try for
I’m going to find something more
This world may be unjust and unfair
But it’s in here, somewhere
Some might say I got it all
But life is more than just fame and basketball

Independence Piece # 2

I really had no idea where I was going with this story when i began writing it. As I just kept writing about a man on a walk through the rain, a new idea, or place to go with the story popped up in my head. I wanted to write a story where I could really show emotion and feelings, and that's why I never gave the protagonist a name. Someone is still a figure with traits, qualities, and feelings no matter what he/she is called. I thought i could have done a better job characrerizing the lady, especially physical, to give the story more meaning.



The man walked. That’s all he knew at a time life this. No destination or purpose, the young, frightened man walked a way of the unknown. As he trudged along the usually packed sidewalk, the downpour of rain encumbered his body. A quick glance at the skyscrapers towering over him failed miserably as the rain easily pushed his eyes away. Most incredibly however, the further the man made his way, the more darkness surrounded him, as if the darkness itself was planning an attack.

After a few minutes, which seemed like hours, the mysterious man reached a large park. He turned his head to see the path he had come from, but horrific was an understatement. After about fifty yards, everything possible seemed transformed into darkness. Without any more thought, the man kept forward, yet forward does not always refer to progress. Suddenly, a man, calmly sitting on a bench, seemed to break through he darkness and appear only a few feet away. Surprisingly, the man was wearing a bright yellow rain jacket, which for some odd reason attracted my senses. Usually I would just stroll on my way, and ignore the unique event that lay in front of me, but everything had changed on this night. Why not this as well? Immediately after sitting on the opposite side of the bench, the invigorating new figure asked him a question.

Quickly, as if time was short, the figure asked, “Where have you come from?”
The young man had a feeling a place would not satisfy the old lady, which was finally visible. He thought for a few moments and confidently replied, “More problems then you could imagine.”
“So you’ve given up?” the mysterious, yellow-jacketed lady immediately threw back at him. Without another word, the old lady stood up, zipped up her jacket, and disappeared into the unknown. Suddenly, the man who had taken this walk to escape his problems was now trembling as if a swooping breeze had just come over him. The man's walk was a sucess as he finally knew exactly what he had to do.

Independent Piece # 1

This independent piece is a poem that contains repetition and rhyming. I don’t know where I got the idea for a mission; I just start writing and came up with this. It’s about, I guess myself, as I strive towards a goal and how it keeps me going. When I accomplish the dream, or task, though a new one has to begin. It begins with the past, works its way in the present, and ends in the future I believe the format of the poem and its structure are its best qualities. If someone doesn’t know, C.R.E.A.M.= Cash Rules Everything Around Me.


I had a mission
i would never reach the core,
or soar the impossible
but i knew there was more
anything could be through that door
But
I had my mind set

I have a mision
it’s make or break
no matter how long it may take,
and whatever the stake
i will fill that lake
Because
I have my mind set

I still have a mission
but not a day goes by
where i don’t reach out and try,
for my dream is the sky
and i will not quit unless i die
Because
I have my mind set

I don’t have a mission
i have completed the dream
and it’s just how it may seem
it was all about C.R.E.A.M.
until i followed that invigorating beam
But
I don’t have a mission

I have a new mission
i have begun a new drive
it will keep me alive
as i strive,
into the unknown with a hopeful dive
Because
I have my mind set

Enthusiasm

Enthusiasm
The dictionary defines such a word as a “controlling possession of the mind by any interest or pursuit”. Others describe the word as great excitement from a specific cause or event. Enthusiasm could never exist if pursuits and interests weren’t so important in today’s world. Everyone wants to get somewhere. This want creates the great enthusiasm that many people feel. However, could the emotion of enthusiasm bring about a negative affect? Enthusiasm could “control” the mind and if success is never achieved, other negative emotions may follow. Basically just containing high hopes in a certain situation, enthusiasm can be one of the most profound emotions if used to its highest potential. The more enthused someone can become, the greater possibility of success in life.

Large optimism brings enthusiasm to the table. Just six months ago, I was even optimistic about school, along with the upcoming fall soccer season. However, shortly after, I dreaded the idea of waking up every morning any longer, and the high enthusiasm about school had vanished. Just a few days ago, I was greatly looking forward to the lacrosse season. Playing lacrosse again, and a successful season were definitely “pursuits” of mine. Unfortunately my enthusiasm would be crushed as I realized lacrosse practice was the worst three and half hours imaginable.

I realize that present time enthusiasms basically build off of the wants I am trying to obtain. Even if that so called want is almost impossible to achieve, and nearly unimaginable, I could still be enthused. On the contrary though, the enthusiasm I feel right now is still much higher for goals I know can be obtained. Food is only a short time away. So I find myself greatly excited for a specific event, breakfast. A long weekend, also in the near future, is another “interest” of mine, which I can’t wait to occur. My high hopes, for these specific events of interest to unfold, create the enthusiasm I can thrive from.

Enthusiasm for the unknown is just like admiring and curiosity for what the future holds. Achievement of large goals, along with morals and important values build the future. As of now I’m looking forward to the completion of junior year and the summer. The blazing sun and hot summer days are tops on my list of things to come. I am even enthused about the rest of the NBA season and march madness, which is only two days away. My enthusiasms’ for the future are endless because of so many “interests and pursuits” that are obtainable. I believe all these enthusiasms if conquered will bring about success in my life, even if I’m just enthused about a basketball game.

E.E. Cummings, piece # 6

E.E. Cummings poem:
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

-turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

--------------------------------------------------
My work:

The view full of colors and life,
The landscape in front of me so serene
As I hoped the night ahead of me was clear of strife

This view on this calm afternoon was unlike anything ever seen

I sat there, completely still from miles away
With no purpose or plan;
Just needed a unusual, peaceful day

A strong breeze felt like the perfect fan
But everything else seemed to stay still

the sun only lay partially alive,
working its final way over the hill
with its dramatic, yet daily dive

-this moment I only had one fear,
that everything would just forever disappear.

Vonnegut piece

High school: the most essential part of a teenager’s life. But what does high school bring? Obviously there are the good grades that usually lead to a good college, and eventually a good career. So does high school just help someone reach the economic standards they wish to live with later in life? The answer to this profound question is an absolute and definite no. Through my research and own experiences I have learned that just the impact of everyday high school life can be enormous. High school can bring an uprising or a downfall in any type of person, but why? What happens that people never hear about, that completely changes the lives of so many different people? The answer to the question, how does high school shape a person’s future, could be very simple. I could just say it brings experience in all aspects of life, especially social and most would be satisfied. But high school is much more than that. I mean what does the mind think when you hear the word, high school. I guess this is where I should begin.

Their House, Piece # 5

Early on a cloudy day,
The family came home,
With hopes and dreams,
To a strong house, that
They built their life around

But now, that’s forever gone
The family looks on,
A house of fire stands now
Weak in front of them
Their house, lives
That’s burning to the ground

Smoke fills the air
The house begins to fall
Sounds of disaster and then
Crash, the family’s lives disappear

A house, their house, lies in ruins
Their dreams forever gone
Even fire has done wrong

Hemmingway Piece

It was a cool, brisk morning, much unlike the weather I was used too in the states. I sat on a small, wood bench and every few minutes I felt a heavy, cold breeze smacking me in the face, as I tried to stay warm. I didn’t need to move to find life as people and dogs and birds filled around the interior of the park near this large fountain.
Suddenly, the peaceful atmosphere broke, as I heard two men yelling nearby. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“Well, do you have a better one?” the tall, broad man replied.
“Uh maybe we should just call the whole thing off,” the very young looking man answered.
“Do you want more of the profit? Name your price!”
“No, that’s not it at all.”
“How about 30 percent?”
The tall man seemed to be getting angry. I moved a little closer in curiosity.
The young man thought for a moment and said, “Mike, we gotta get another person.”
“No DJ, that’s too dangerous.”
“It’s the only way I’ll do it”
“We only have three days. You know we can’t wait any longer.”
“We just need someone to guard the post incase we need to take another route. That doesn’t have to be taught.”
The DJ character began to yell, “BUT YOU EXCPECT US TO FIND SOMEONE HERE IN CANADA AND--” His voice echoed across the park and he had realized that everyone was now staring at them. After a few minutes of just standing there, the young man finally spoke.
“I thought we were suppose to keep a low profile-”
“Shut up…we are doing a good job so far”
“Alright, lets go get some food. I can’t think on an empty stomach.”
“Fine, but we’re almost out of money…we gotta be careful.”
The two men began to walk away towards the North end of the park. For some reason, I had the crazy idea of leaving the safety of this wood bench and following the men to find out more. I had my intentions set as I finally got up and also walked quickly to the North end of the park.

Characterization Piece

I sat quietly in class, staring at the chalkboard as the teacher went on and on in her monotonous ways. Suddenly, the door swung open and a man none of us had ever seen before appeared. The whole atmosphere of the room immediately changed completely. The teenager, seventeen as I would learn later, entered the room with a big grin across his face. The boy, without saying a word, strolled towards an empty seat in the back. He seemed to have a hop to his step as he walked with his long hair moving every such way under his large flat-brimmed hat. This seemed to make me sick to my stomach. It was when he sat down that I realized the whole room had been staring as well, not in disgust, but in curiosity. Only the teacher seemed to know what was going on.

As my mother would have put it, the boy dressed a little bit differently than others from North Salem High School. He wore bright pink and yellow shoes along with his baggy, dark-blue jeans. The hat, now that I could see it up close, was white and yellow and contained a logo of the Washington Nationals, a terrible baseball team from Washington that nobody from New York would ever root for. After a few seconds, the boy removed the hat and his long, curly, and brownish hair was uncombed and jutted around in all different places, but it didn’t seem to bother him one bit. Then, out of surprise, but happiness, the bell rung and everyone went on with their day, as I still wondered about the unpredictable event that had just so quickly occurred.

North Salem Setting Piece

North Salem is a small, but unique town, with high mountains and horse farms through out. I remember the winters when I would step outside and become engulfed by the cold, thin air. However when I took a moment and studied the outside world, the beautiful North Salem winters was uncovered. As my bus slowly drove along the windy roads, I admired the clean, not yet walked snow that lay there gently from the last snow storm. Snowmen and frozen over ponds and lakes were found almost anywhere you went. However, with all this said, the summers are what I loved most about North Salem. I remember my friends and me hanging outside every second we could, no matter how hard or long the blazing sun continuously beat down upon us. The warmth and peace from the morning sounds was unlike anything else. As people would walk through my neighborhood, dogs would bark and the birds would always follow.