Descriptive_Essay

The loud annoying buzz from the alarm clock woke me from a deep sleep, begrudgingly I rolled over from my cozy bed on the 16th floor high rise apartment complex on 200 Water Street on the Lower East Side of New York City. As I wiped my eyes and began to focus on the alarm clock I was disappointed to see that it wasn’t a dream at all and seven A.M. was already here. I slapped the top of the alarm to stop the horrible, almost ear piercing noise it was making to finally make my way over to the window overlooking Wallabout Bay. As I wiped the morning fog off the window which was a common occurrence in the winter due to the wind blowing in off the Bay, my eyes lit up at the sight I seen. Snow! Snow in and of itself wasn’t anything new or otherwise amazing to a native New Yorker, myself included. In fact New Yorkers have become accustomed to the regular snowfall we receive each winter. Some of us choose to simply deal with it, like the annoying mosquitoes that we’re all forced to swat at every summer. Others relish every second of snow. They treat it like an early Christmas gift that the illusion of Santa Claus had no part in. Something that seems so unbelievably pure and earnest that snow is almost begging to be loved, begging for acceptance by everybody. I was gathering my jacket, hat, and gloves when my mother approached me holding a steaming cup of coffee and told me with a glisten in her eye, “They cancelled school today, snow day.” I raced to finish getting dressed and told her I was going sledding! As I stood outside at the bottom step of my apartment complex with both of my arms pressing my sled close up to my chest, the cold wind blew directly into my face, but it felt almost refreshing, the kind of refreshing that only makes sense to a child and his sled. It was at that exact second that something about this snow seemed, in a way, different from all others I had seen before. The way it resembled a firmly pressed white sheet covering an unimaginably huge bed, no matter what direction I looked, be it up, down, near, or far the sheet covered everything. I made my way East on Water Street, with the fresh snow crunching underneath the weight of every step I took, following the rather obnoxiously large signs directing tourists and locals alike to Corlears Hook Park. Even as a child, it was rather easy for me to spot a tourist from a local. I just had to look for the group of people posing next to the 15 foot high pile of snow near the old park sign which looked like it came over on the Mayflower. It didn’t matter to me at the time at all. I was not about ready to let a few tourists stand in the way of my good time. I trekked deeper into the park near the old bandshell, which during the summer holds many musical events for local artists and schools alike. Finally, I was where I wanted to be. I wasn’t alone however; there were scores of kids all with their individual sleds or toboggans standing in line, patiently waiting for their chance to glide down the mass of snow. After standing in line for what seemed like hours, but was more realistically about five minutes, I climbed my way to the top of the bandshell. The upward climb was not particularly easy, but I dug my boots and gloves into the snow pulled for all I was worth to reach the top. The view from the top was nothing short of awe inspiring. I could see for miles, even back to my apartment complex, but the view of the Williamsburg Bridge overpowered all the other scenery it was breathtaking. I took my seat in my sled which was by now, a semi frozen slab of plastic and pushed off. I started off slowly, but began to pick up more and more speed. The trees seemingly flew by me as I raced onward towards the bottom. When I did finally reach the bottom, I crawled out of my sled, brushed off all the snow that had accumulated on my legs and feet, and dumped out my sled of snow. I took a look back at the hill that I had just conquered and had a triumphant smile on my face. All that was left for me to do was to do it again, and again, and again. I spent the entire day there sledding, having fun and generally speaking, just being a kid. I did not even realize how much time had passed until my mother showed up at the hill and told me it was time to come home for dinner. As I got in her car I began to take off my snow gear. As I was doing so, I stole one last look at the sledding hill where I had spent the day. One last look at the hill though the foggy car window.