A Sence of Place

Until now, for the past eighteen and a half years of my life, I lived in a small Long Island town called West Islip. West Islip is a well-populated, predominantly white town, with a minority population well below ten percent. It is a nice quiet town right on the water. Like every town though, it has its really nice rich areas, and its unpleasant areas. There are many places to go, and things to do all the time. It is very inhabited with a variety of store

Everyone has their own sense of place and their own story behind it. For me it was more about a feeling, and not about the actual place. Colorado has incredible sparkly little towns filled with people that seem to be so happy and content. Everyone is remarkably nice to each other. It’s like going to a different world when compared to the hustle and bustle of New York. This atmosphere contributed a lot to the way I feel about Colorado, but it was that one descent of that mountain, that one line in the snow that made me feel like I never had before. That feeling made me realize, this is my place.

My place is deep in the mountains of Colorado, where the constant scent of pollution is replaced with the freshest, and cleanest air imaginable. The mountains stand before you like giants, so strong and so powerful that they intimidate you to the point where you feel like nothing could compare to their greatness. The snow falls gently, like a million tiny feathers. It layers the ground in the fluffiest most beautiful powder you have ever seen, unlike the wet slosh that we call snow here in New York. It’s like looking at the top of a freshly poured glass of Champaign. The trees stand tall and proud and begin to scatter out evenly as you go higher and higher up the mountains to the point where they disappear. It’s only you and the mountain. I love to go up to the highest peak

Some topics in this essay:
Mother Nature, West Islip, , York It’s, line snow, west islip, feeling belong, sense belongs,