a girl on a walk - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
She was a girl on a walk, comfortable to wear her real emotions, everything from laundry day jeans to party dresses played upon her eyes and lips.
A girl on a walk is a thing you can see any day, yet she was different. She walked as if she and the street had come to an understanding, as if the concrete was more than willing to rise in support of her soles.
Upon that wintry day, amid the brown wands of the wide avenue, the girl on her walk appeared to have kept something of the summertime about her - as if her soul were a bright firefly.
If the wintry day was fresh paint upon a white house, she was kind of graffiti that warmed the spirit, as if God had picked up two spray cans and created her right there.
She was a girl on walk, starting to get a feel for who she really was at her core. These days of more calmness, now that she had mastered the art of having a clear brain, the serenity of feeling her own intelligence rather than tiring herself with unresolved thoughts, she could see far more clearly, yet rather through her senses than her eyes, a sort of thinking without words. And what came to her were new thoughts, a sort of poetry she never realised she was capable of. The avenue was breathing, living, through the trees and the people, as if they were in a strange conversation of sorts, one of the emotions. It was as if the colours and the sounds, the bustle and the quiet space, were a million weaved moments both transient and real.
With each stride her mind became more clear, more resolute, as if the growing physical distance between them had now become an emotional chasm. As the nascent sunlight caressed her skin, promising a new dawn, a new beginning, she entombed her memories of him in thick walled ice. Then, abruptly pausing to close her eyes and take in a deep breath of dewy air, she steeled herself to only think of her future from here on in. A future she would mould, build, direct. Then with each stride after that she felt more in charge, in command of her own mind, body and soul. She was a girl walking into her own destiny, a destiny that lay squarely in her own hands.
Jeanie stopped. The path ahead was suddenly alive with the hopping of small brown frogs no bigger than a dollar. She grinned. Ordinarily she wouldn't have a chance of catching one but there were dozens of them, how could she miss? She crouched down and as she scooped one up she felt it lie cold against her skin. "Funny," she thought, she hadn't considered herself to be particularly warm but to this frog's cool and delicate skin she must feel like she had a furnace inside of her. She opened her hand gently, allowing the late spring sunshine to fall on the earthy creature that lay captured in her fingers. She felt a frisson of awe to see its eyes, sticking up and glossy like any story book prince-to-be. It's legs were hunched, ready to leap. When it hopped she let out a squeal, though she knew the frog would she was still startled when it did. She watched it go, hopping frantically for the plant cover at the sides of the path. Then she took a step forwards, watching, hoping to repeat the experience.
A girl on a walk, a commander of her own life and future, is a beautiful sight.