My Neighborhood Essay

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Gina Iaffaldano English/ Preston 10/27/11 As a young child, I was infatuated with the outdoors. My imagination ran wild as my neighborhood transformed into a jungle gym, crime scene, theatre, and another home. Every season was a new beginning in a new wonderland. Each branch swayed like volumous hair in the warm sunlight, the willow tree was my home. Climbing trees, conducting investigations, and hosting shows for the neighbors whom were my best friends was my favorite things to do. When I grew older, my neighborhood became less vivid and bland. I lost my imagination and thirst for adventure. Winters became a hassle and my love for the different seasons became less magical. Neighbors became lost friendships and are greeted with a simple wave as I drive away from my neighborhood. An island of pine trees clustered together like gigantic jungle gyms. Each tree had long branches that were free of leaves until the end of the branch. I would climb until the branches became too brittle at the very top. Wondering why trees stopped growing, I searched for the tree that would take me to the clouds. If I ever reached them, I would feel the cotton balls and prance on the fluff. Better than any chucky cheese around, the trees allowed me to leap from tree to tree until my hands were corroded with mud and sap. From day until dawn, I climbed every mountain. Right when the day begun, I dashed outside to begin my adventures. My brother’s, mike, and frank, were intrigued as well and would compete with me to get to the top. Life outside this jungle gym of mine became faint, as I spent most of my time with nature. Consuming all of my time, I frequently would be lost from my mom who would set a plate of dinner aside for when I came home. As the seasons changed, so did the cluster of jungle gyms. Each mound of snow allowed me to climb higher and higher. The snow covered the pine

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