Descriptive Essay On My Winter Trip

     Born Lisa Williamson in 1964, Sister Souljah is a hip-hop artist that burst to the forefront of mainstream media in 1992 when she was criticized by then Presidential candidate Bill Clinton for saying “If Black people kill black people every day, why not have a week and kill white people?” Clinton was trying to prove to other Democrats that he did not sympathize with the organization that Souljah was a member of. She basically said Bill Clinton and went on to sign music and publishing contracts. She has become one of the more passionate and articulate voices to emerge speaking for young African Americans in the United States. She has written and published to works: No Disrespect, and

To kick off National Domestic Violence Awareness Month, the Pediatric Dentistry of Ft. Myers will host unique snow-themed fundraising event on Saturday, October 1

After Hitler refused to stop the invasion of Poland, Britain and France declared war on Germany. This was the beginning of World War 2, and the United States would shortly join to fight the Axis Powers. In July, 1944 there was an assassination attempt on Adolph Hitler (Page 3). This was the start of the book called The Longest Winter by Alex Kershaw. The Longest Winter, Lieutenant Bouck leads his platoon in the Battle of the Bulge and also through prisoners of war camps in Germany. Kershaw is able to talk about the platoon specifically and describe their struggle through the POW camps. In this book, Alex Kershaw focuses on mainly on the platoon of the 394th Infantry Regiment, 99th Infantry division. The Longest Winter is a book that tells

Winterkill is about Emmeline (Em), a young girl who is determined to uncover the truth about her village and herself. Em`s grandmother was wayward and punished by death which left a stain on Em and her family. Anyone with a stain is deemed undesireable and is treated as a second class citizen. Em believs she is wayward becuase of the stain and her curiosity of what is past the village walls.

A few winters ago, some friends invited my family and me to go snow skiing at Paoli Peaks, Indiana. I did not know how to snow ski, and I leaped at the thought of trying this new sport. On the first morning we entered the pro shop to rent all the gear and make decisions about whether or not to take lessons or go it alone. We decided to be adventurous and go it alone—no lessons. Kent and Celeste, the friends who invited us, knew how to ski and snowboard. He assured us that he could show us the basics, and we would be on our way down the slopes. All of us, after a few minutes learning how to wedge our skis started down the family trail. Although the family trail had smaller hills and appeared safe, to me it seemed way too fast and dangerous. I fell several times before making it to the bottom and started having doubts about whether I’d ever be able to really enjoy the sport. By the end of the first day, however, I was not only flying down the family trail but was going down black diamond trails with just a little nervousness.

You know what the best thing about winter is? When it’s over. Winter is that time of the year where getting out of your bed feels like absolute hell. People struggle every day trying to get up for work and for school simply because it’s as cold as the Arctic. Even with heating available nearly everywhere your hands and feet (especially fingers and toes) get painfully cold and numb to the extent where they feel like nothing.

As the officer approached the passenger side window of my car I could only think the worst. I didn’t know if he was going to be tough on me or give me a break and let me off with a warning. The officer had me roll down the window, asked me for my license and registration, and asked me if I knew how fast I was going. To which I responded that I wasn’t aware and that I was simply running late to catch a train in Ronkonkoma. He responded with “So I guess that’s why you were speeding.” While he was back in the police car checking my papers and license, I could only keep my mind on the fact that I was now going to get a very expensive speeding ticket and that my plans for the entire day would be ruined. When he came back to my car he handed me my

Ontario is your perfect winter fun wonderland for snowboarding and tubing or downhill skiing. You can venture out and explore the pristine cross-country ski and snowshoe trails. Ontario is situated in a natural snow belt and it is blessed with lake effect snowfalls all through the winter months. Ontario is about 45 minutes north of Toronto and the area receives an approximated 100 inches of snow each year.

Try not to get pulled over by a cop, but if you do, make sure you are argumentative. Convince the officer he or she made the wrong decision pulling you over, since you were driving carefully. REMEMBER: Police are always wrong. Always. Eventually, the officer realizes he or she has made mistake, and will let you go on your own way. Also, never let the officer know if you’re doing something illegal, because, if you recall from earlier, innocence it key, and no one kills an innocent civilian.

It was a normal winter morning. I woke up freezing my butt off. The night before we

The rosy face of my energetic mother looked back at me “Isn’t this just so fun?” she asked, full of an incomprehensible amount of life. I would eventually grumble back a grumpy response while dreaming of the time when we would be back in our warm car. My red, cold fingers tirelessly clutched at my ski poles and the scratchy, itchy woolen cap relentlessly forced me to reach up and scratch my head, making it hard to keep balanced. All the while the rhythmic sound of my snow pants rubbing together made the frown on my face become deeper and deeper with every stride that I took. I never liked cross country skiing, not when I was little. In fact, I never liked anything to do with being out in nature, whether it be hiking, skiing, or just taking a walk around our local City Forest. However, growing up with adventurous, nature-loving parents like mine meant that almost every weekend we would be out

It was winter in Mississippi. Stacey, Cassie and I were tired of the white people who are the only people who had a bus. It was winter when we’s dug up the hole of the gully of water till it got to my neck and when it did we waited til the bus got there and after the bus cleared everybody I felt so good with the revenge we went into class and I was actually happy when dirt got on me so when we went to class my teacher looked at me because I was actually dirty. I was scared mama would find out we did it. When she does find out the night men will find us and mama will be so angry. We had supper and had something to get off our mind of the bus.

passed I turned around and caught up with the vehicle at Broad and Pine in the

The only sound that filled my ears was my keyboard clicking as my fingers raced across it. I had been procrastinating from finishing this assignment all evening, but I knew I needed to get it done. The burning sunset was shining through the windows as I was finishing up. It was a peaceful silence, until I heard the soft whispers of my parents that ignited my sense of curiosity. I was concentrating hard; doing my best trying to make out the hushed words that were being spoken.

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of