adventure - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
There was an explosion in her brain... the good sort... the type that carries more possibilities than she could be conscious of... but there were hundreds of ideas there in that buzz of electricity... she could feel it. It was the calling card of adventure, of paths awaiting her feet. Whatever was ahead could be a great challenge, and there could be tears, but it was her adventure to take and so she smiled. The ideas would come, probably when she least expected it, so she laced her boots and took a step.
A sensation of vibration as patterns bleed from the white walls. Breathing in unition while we consume the feeling of colors and the sight of music. Lying on a flowing wave of floor boards where sleep will never come. The beginning to a journey that may not end. We make our way from place to place in the purple haze of night. Empty except for the occasional glimmer of humanity. Our laughter filling the streets. We continue with no destination in mind. But nowhere is somewhere. Somewhere is nowhere. And thoughts are everywhere. A pandemonium of confusion. Yet chaos is order. We scream from the rooftops as the sun is on the rise. A beautiful beginning to an end. Awe watch in awe as the blue silk of the night sky away, slowly making room for a shiny new day. The red orb of sun blinding the human eye. The earth moves in rotation, and we with it.
Three figures walked down a wide limestone track, not quite leisurely, for their large packs on their backs had started to dig into their shoulders, but happy. The girl was happy because of the familiarity of the landscape, she had trod this turf many a time, seven years past. The man, the father of the two children, was happy to be going off into the mountains for another adventure to add to his collection of many. And the boy was looking forward to the future.
The girl smiled. There was the worn path down to the swimming hole, snaking through the trees to meet the rocky shore of the river. There was the dark cave edged with roots, its depths she had never dared to enter, and she had always been a little afraid of what could be inside.
They passed the sunny flats, the path rose a little, and narrowed, the trees closed in on them and blocked some of the strong sunlight. Decaying brown leaves littered the ground, and long rotting tree trunks covered in thick moss lay around like large beasts.
Mmm adventure- I could smell it in the air. It lingered in the frosty swirls of mist and reflected in the jagged walls of ice. It echoed through the canyon and up into the sky. Rags of mist and snow clung to the mountain, but as the sun erupted over the top, the mountain threw off its tattered robe and pierced the brightening canvas above, ready for a new day. I peered suspiciously over the edge of the cliff, took a deep breath, and jumped. I plummeted down, down, down, the air scrambled past me and snagged on my thoughts. My heart leapt and began charging at my chest, trying to get out and see what in the world was going on out there. Then, I caught the wind. The wings of my body suit snapped out and a was ejected into the dawn sky. I was flying.
Even going to the market was an adventure for Gina. She felt a frisson of excitement to just hear the cacophony of shouts coming from each stall holder as we exited the bus. She sat on my shoulders and pointed out at the colours and aromas in her excited squeal. Then I would lower her to the floor in front of each stall we shopped at so she could feel the texture of the produce. Then she would gleefully handle the money and take the change. When our bag was too heavy for me to carry them both she would hold onto my fingers and skip along the dirty cobbles of the square, all the back to the bus stop and the black tarmac river that would take us home.
I always knew we'd hit upon the next great adventure idea when I got that tingly feeling, you know, the feeling that spreads from your brain right down to your fingers and toes. It was just so exciting, especially when it came on the heals of that slumpy feeling I get bogged down with when the last adventure has gotten old and cold. I need the buzz of the new, the thrill of the unknown, the seeking of new answers that push my limits. And this time it was a doozy, I tingled so bad I had to go for a long run just to tame it.
When she would describe her idea of an adventure to me it would send chills down my spine. She wanted to backpack across India, sail up the Nile in a wooden boat, trek through the Amazon and climb Mount Everest. She wanted to explore rural China, dog sled in the arctic, tour Russia and deep sea dive. My idea of adventure was trying a new supermarket, a different hiking trail in my neighbourhood or a new hairdresser.
Adventure, do I even know what it means? Perhaps it's the daily errant I run for my master, or maybe the time when I have to look for Baby Astrid's missing doll for lets say the hundredth time of the day. I didn't know how enclosed I was until the day I stepped out of the mansion and wandered off into the nearby forest. There, life lingered. There, I knew what adventure means. There, I finally knew what it means to live life.
It was a glorious adventure right up until she slipped off the mountainside and into the rocky canyon far below. Then it was a nightmare.
Dr. L.P. Jones’ history classroom was exactly like the other classrooms at the college. Keep that in mind because every day, as he spoke, it was transformed by some miracle. One day in class, I heard the roar of World War I cannons as they exploded in France, l914. I never knew what to expect next. I found myself in World War I trenches with the French or British, fighting cold the enemy, cold, downpours of rain, and hunger. I remember one time, I flew missions in a two winged plane, and was shot down. I listened to a speech of Winston Churchill over the radio to the British people during World War II. On another day, I ventured into the halls of justice to witness the cross examination of a Nazi war criminal. Every one or two weeks at most, I would travel the world with the rich and powerful. I sat in the presence of countless heroes of civilization, and explorers of the Amazon River. There was something always going on in Dr. L.P. Jones’ classroom. I strongly suspect it continued.
She walked past the gates and closed so no one would follow. If it would take her until evening here, her brother would eventually know where she was. The iron gates that had fallen to rusts swung with heavy metallic shrieks. A knitted scarf, made by her favorite Aunt, hung around her neck loosely and it flew as the wind brushed past her auburn hair, it was always colder up the hill.
The girl slowly picked it up, only to find it in muddy stains from the knocked over stone markers. She cursed and hid it on her clothes, enlarging the bulk on her left-side pocket. She paused for a moment and hid behind the old crumbled chapel’s remains, carefully not ripping her dress.
Selene ran, bare feet gliding through the cold grass. A swift wind blew her long, brown hair out behind her like a cape. The eerie glow of the half moon glanced off the silver necklace that adorned her neck. She glanced up, her feet never missing a step as she gazed at the night sky. The light of the stars was hidden by the shadows of the clouds. Adrenaline pushed its way into her veins filling her with the thrill of adventure.
Suddenly, to her left, a tree shook and a white ghostly bird swooped down to fly beside her. Selene ran so close to the bird’s moon glinting feathers she could almost touch them. She put her arms out like she did when she was young, and let the wind pull her after the fading image of the bird.