Indian Hill Essay

One could say I felt all different sorts of precarious. I had attempted a brief research on Indian Hill, but I was left stumped on how the trail was named and whether or not Indians used to reside there in the past. In addition, hiking is rather foreign to me, as it is not one of my usual happenings. Nonetheless, there I was at the gateway of Indian Hill, accompanied by my mother and amigo Amy Frankovich. It was a day where most likely your toes and the tips of your ears would be bit by the brisk cold. However, my feet were snug in my Cabin Socks and hiking boots. As we were beginning, we decided to take the blue trail, which was longer and more advanced than the undemanding yellow trail. No amount of time had passed before I was able to see the works of nature, for there were 'steps' up the hill carved into the ground by eroded tree roots. Towering trees with autumn brown leaves hailed the path; it was nearly impossible to let the vast green and red apples lingering in the trees and on the ground go unnoticed. Usually only diminutive crab apples are seen, and
There was a torn leaf on one of the plants and it was fascinating to see a sticky, milky-white liquid ooze from its veins. As we continued to walk across the field, we came across another hiker who was walking her bugs, Simon and Tucker. No, the lady was not crazy, she was simply walking her Boston Terrier/Pug mix-breed dogs. We stopped and talked with her and she told us how she hiked with her dogs for an hour a day, and knew the trail very well. After saying goodbye to the kind lady, we back-tracked around the trail to see the scenic view. However, when we reached the viewing spot, I have to admit that I was disappointed. The 'scenic view' was just a bunch of trees and a Wegman's clock tower, which wasn't what I had imagined. Regardless, it was still a respectable