A Description: Keep Going
Completion, is that warm smile that spreads across your face. It erupts from your soul, spills onto paper, and then let’s you know that you are done. No more words need placed, and in some ways it scares you, yet somehow you feel the freedom to breath. Completion flows over you, and lets each piece of you know that you can start a new project, or simple watch the flowers grow. It makes you want to dance in the streets, and let your dress flow around you, or run free in the surf and let the waves splash up, and kiss your legs with their spray. It makes you want to laugh, and feel the cold wind rush past your face. Because you are done, you can be still, or you can run. It is that perfect moment, where everything is fine, and the world can keep going, but you no longer have to.
A Description: Looking at Ella’s
Her hand lingered in the small bag of caramel corn she held. She looked up, directly above her and tried to read a sign. Long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her eyes sparkled blue in the summer sun. Her shoulders shown from under her white dress. It was a tank top top, white and flowing just to her knees. But that really didn’t describe the dress, it was a sundress, and had patches of lace, blue flowers made lines that ran vertically in a pattern. Bangs sat on her forehead, and framed her face. She smiled as she read the sign, she knew it. It was a place she went often, a little cafe that served ice cream, and had a book store next door. The sign that she read, read Ella’s, and had a calligraphic font. It was a wood sign, and the words where black lined with gold, and backed by forest green. She had always liked that sign, that was why she had stopped the first time. And it had gave her a reason to come back once a week, for a meeting with someone. That someone was me. I watched from the window as she entered the door, and the small gold bell jingled.
A Description: The Aspect
The angle was everything, the way things lay and where portrayed. It was what made the plains look open and desolate. It was the thing that made majesty appear big, and what made elegance perfect. It was all in the aspect. And as I thought this I wondered if it was just the way things were made to look, if it was just propaganda. If the way things appeared was just because that was how we wanted them to appear. Like I said it was all in the angle, and all in the aspect.
A Description: Snow Edges
Snow came down all around me, as I looked up at the tower. Pulling my wool scarf closer, and adjusting my glasses, I held the camera to my eye. I could see the snow spinning front of my lens, and tried to adjust it to the building. Snow crowded the edges and made it look as though I’d frosted the edges of the picture. Tilting the camera, and blowing off the lens once more, I went to snap the shot. As I stared through the eye hole, the cross hairs lined up. It was amazing, there was so much beauty in the simple architecture. The way the pieces of the building fit together, what talent must have went into the structure.
A Description: After the Storm
The ocean shifted below my boots. It’s ruff waters where fast, and the waves crashed big, and rushed up high on the beach. I pulled the coat tighter to block the wind. It wasn’t that is was cold, but the sand trailed in the wind and stung your skin. I walked faster along the shore, I liked times like these. Where the wind whipped at my hair, and sent the waves spinning into pretty patterns. Most people didn’t, they were the leftovers of storms, the last gusts of recuse. I liked them though, I loved them. So much was revealed, laying raw, open and sore. So much was revealed after the storm.
A Description: Below my watch
Sitting on the roof I looked out at the yard. Sticking my legs out the window I felt the warm sun’s rays touch me. I placed my feet on the edge of the gutter, steadying my seat. My hair hung down, reflecting light, and shining golden brown. A tree’s branches just brushed the edge of the house. My eyes lingered on it’s form, and how the sun shone through it. It was low on the horizon, just setting at the hills, and sending a shimmer across the hills. I watched everything as it moved in slow motion, the earth and everything on it, just barely shifting below my watch.
A Description: Resurrected Record
Her fingertips drifted over the tops of the cases. Reading as she passed the labels on the fronts of the records. She was classy like that, always finding the old records, always finding the perfect place to play them. And she had everything, everything from rock to jazz, and from indie labels to top ones. There was something else about her to, the part where I came in. She was always her at my shop, on time like clockwork. I had the best record collection and she always found the pieces that inspired. Something amazing radiated from her, her short brown hair hung loose, and always made it appear that she was the artist. She was the one who painted the music on the records. And somehow she was the one who resurrected them. She found the magic in the old, and drew it out. I knew no one else that could do so like she.
A Description: Perfectly Correct
As we wove down the highway, we watched the trees rush by and the the warm summer air rush over us. Her hair was whipped away from her face, it flew behind her long, lush and brown. I smiled at her, I knew she was deep in thought letting life wash over her. Suddenly she opened her eyes and looked straight at me, looking through me, “You know something?” she said her voice like honey, and knowing in every way “We are free.” The words were so perfectly compassionate, so perfectly real. They were words people looked for, and reached for. Yet somehow we had the right to say them. She through her arms in the air, and felt the wind rush by, “We can go wherever we please, and we can feel the wind rush between our fingertips. We are free.” I smiled, because somehow she was perfectly correct.
A Description: Packed Car
Looking through the back windows of the station wagon, you could see the packed bags. I pondered for a moment, where could the tent be? If we were going to continue to travel we were going to have to figure out how to fix and organize the trunk. The old bloodhound stuck it’s head from the window. It seemed to be smiling. I figured it was ready to go again, it liked it best when the car moved, and it could let it’s ears flap in the wind almost like wings. Maybe we would have to get a safari rack. Maybe we should have thought about how to pack before we left. I knew we would need the back seat at some point. I looked over at her, she raised an eyebrow, apparently she was following my train of thought. This had not been thought out quite enough. Her blue eyes twinkled, she had sparked an idea. What would happen next?