Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Post, she said. *shrugs* So I will.
Stream-of-consciousness thinking; such a graphic term. Lazy meandering rivers, wide and deep and broad, wending across untainted plains gold in the glow of high summer, silent save the rustling of warm winds through tall grass, green and gold and brown, unbent and untouched. Flanks of silver birch trees, insubstantial dancing shadows on clear water, deep and cold and mineral-tinted turquoise-aquamarine, placid yet subtly dangerous. Undercurrents and smoothness, silver dents in the surface from falling leaves as emerald as the grass is gold. Dust-motes and pollen and water droplets iridescent in tinted sunlight beaming in shafts through gaps of white cloud. Blue-grey-green dimples from sudden storms, lone riders bareback on light, swift horses; wild paths through autumn-hued woods and swirling leaves, prisms of spray trod up from puddles and shallow, sparkling fords with shiny stones; fat, loaded droplets shimmering in the air, caught for a second of an eternity. Smaller, faster glacial streams, untamed and vicious, cutting sharp, steep valleys through mountain ranges, cleaving the land to its will. Deep clefts and vales of viridian pine-forest, and narrow stony paths on a suitably grey day, silver mist fading into shades of cloud and sky. Rivers melding and mellowing into desolate seascapes; sun-warmed boulders and hardy wild grass on rocky crags overlooking wind-swept beaches, lines in the sand permanently etched with temporary designs. Granite white with sea-salt from continual assault by white-tipped waves; frothy, rhythmic pounding, salt spray, sea breezes heavy with moisture and marine smells. White gulls wheeling and calling into an endless, brilliantly cloudless blue sky.
Randomness is good.
All the best for GP tomorrow.
;
Sirithros_Lirenel 9:33 PM
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