a girl on a walk - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
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.
And she walked. She walked as her hair fluttered in the air, her clothes clung to her body, arms tightly wrapped around her. Helen felt cold wind stroking her skin, wanting to rip her clothes off her, as if she were its enemy. As a few teardrops appeared in the corners of her eyes, the woman continued walking, not stopping for anything.
Determination drove her on. Face wiped clean, as if a screen had been pulled down to hide her emotions, she hurried along. It was beginning to get dark, the coming night teasing the sky into twilight. Fear sat heavy on her heart as she walked as fast as she could. Eyes plastered to the floor, she stared at her shoes. The cold painted bright red on her cheeks and the wind threw her hair around aimlessly.
She blew though the countryside like a fresh breeze. Her feet were made of the soil, her arms were the trees, her hair was a mass of vibrant fall leaves and her eyes were a reflection of the azure sky. Her soul felt free to leave her body to dance with the souls of the plants and animals around her, bringing back the wisdom of the earth to reside in her, so she could pass on her wisdom and teach others how to nurture the spirit of the land. She was a girl on a walk, and that walk would last her whole life. While there was nature to care for and protect, her loamy feet would be in touch with the soil and her ears would be listening to the whispers of the deity she could not touch or know but could feel. She knew her walk was His walk and she was at peace with herself.
The white drifts outside were deeper than Kayo ever remembered them being before. She put on snow shoes and stepped out. Without them she would sink to her neck in the freezing crystals. Wrapped up in fur lined coat, the hood up over her head, she walked over where the garden gate was buried and took a right toward the Magician's house. Father was sick and the magician could help, she just knew it. This ailment would surely be nothing to a man that could make flowers appear from nowhere. She lowered her head to the wind and squinted into the flurry of snow. It was eleven kilometres away, longer than she'd ever been before on her own.
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.
Rose walked in the city like her mother used to drive their old mustang - on autopilot. Had she been a country girl, unaccustomed to the well worn graffiti and the plants that shot through every sidewalk crack, she might have noticed the insipid urban decay. But like anything that changes slowly, the differences were hard to detect. She walked her route so often that she herself was part of the backdrop for others, she was simply a girl on a walk, worn sneakers taking her to school. It wasn't until so many folks left and the targets for the gangs became thin on the ground that her problems began.