calm - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Her voice remained as warm as early spring, as if her heart beat so steadily even though she took a different view from Mac. She simply said this was her way of doing things. I could see Mac balk at first, so accustomed he was the to ways of Imelda and her fiery temper. Verity was different, she absorbed things and then responded more than reacted, dampened situations rather than adding to the flames. And so before I knew it everything was happy again, it was love all around instead of the bickering I was so accustomed to. It was a sense of calm I grew to love.
The trees are laughing once more, dressed in their carnival clothes, the gold and scarlet of the autumn days. They play about the earthy hues of the branch and trunk, proud flags in any sky. As they do I take in the freshly calm air with that hint of an earthly aroma, the fragrance of homeliness.
This path of life is challenge enough, without making mountains out of molehills, and yeah, we all see the craggy mountain of ice when we are afraid, triggered, maxed out emotionally... So instead of that high drama, breathe... let your energy come down to something softer... then breathe a few more times and watch that big 'ol scarface hill become something more friendly. Perception is everything. The only thing you can ever truly control is yourself, and that's something you can learn. So love everyone, including yourself... lay yourself down through the panic if you must, imagine you have no hands if it helps, or that you're meditating on the moon... whatever works... but when adults keep their panic and fear to themselves, they protect others. Calm returns. Self respect grows. Self control emerges. You gain liberty and maturity with empathy and greater self-reflection. We must be the calm mentors our children look toward for guidance, the keepers of deep wisdom and infinite love... that's what we should develop into... the kind of person every kid is blessed to be loved by.
Darcey lay on the couch, feet twitching to music only she could hear, face as passive as it would be in slumber. Mike moved closer, kneeling down, touching her skin lightly. Though she was already awake, she opened her eyes as if from a deep sleep and smiled that same smile she wore first thing in the morning. Her voice tumbled out softly, "Hey, what's up?"
Aaron watches the sea, lost in the rhythmic percussion of waves on sand. His eyes are steady to the horizon, face aglow with the last orange rays before twilight beckons the stars. His lips bear the semblance of a smile, just enough to show that he is enjoying his thoughts, whatever they may be. Lucy moves closer so that he feels her presence, yet stays quiet, allowing him to stay lost in the moment a while longer.
I have never seen Chester ruffled, and today is no exception. His voice has a husky drawl and every step he takes is in slow motion compared to almost anyone else I know. His idea of hurrying is to bend his head downward a little as he saunters, the pace of his footfalls not changing one iota. That's just the way the man is, born calm, can't change him, wouldn't want to.
Pete slumps onto the couch, sweat and mud splattered up his running gear. The tension of earlier is gone, his face no different than if he was watching a ball game his team was a dead cert to win. He closes his eyes and lets his limbs fall loose, head tilting backward, indenting the leather. His lips remain still, though Gordon thinks them a little dry and fetches some water.
Calm is the forest right after the dawn light has kissed the colours into being. Just being there brings the soul into sweet surrender, at one with nature, vibrant yet relaxed. Every fragrance is fresh, like the page of a new book. Each burst of birdsong is unique, a live chorus to waken the mind, to shake off whatever sleepiness remains. Thoughts and feet wander, lungs fill, time rolls by in its silent and endless way.
When my hand moves over the canvas it's almost like my mind is directing it without me, odd perhaps, but that's the way it is. My hand moves instinctively to the right spot, building a new picture, often one I have never seen before. In these fantastical worlds I see reflections of my own mind, the way I think, but there is something else there too. I don't know what, perhaps I just imagine it, but when I paint I feel closest to our creator and it gives me a peace and mental calmness I cannot find another way.
The lake glistened, mirroring the dazzling assemblage of glittering stars. The faint wind brushed against the water’s surface, the ripples ruffled the stillness of the surface, and shattered the reflection of the harbour.
Unaware of her own heart beating or the rise and fall of her chest, she drifted into semi-consciousness. The drone of the cars outside was as good as a lullaby to this city girl. She would never sleep a wink in the countryside with all that quietness. An incense stick burned at her open window, some lavender drifted out to meet the spring air and just the right amount stayed in the room, just a hint. Her camomile tea had long gone cold and it was later than she suspected. When she opened her heavy lids the room was already twilight and the candles had extinguished themselves.
There was no heat in her voice, as if her heart beat so steadily, even though she took a different view from Mac's own. She simply said this was her way of doing things. I could see Mac balk at first, so accustomed he was the to ways of Imelda and her fiery temper. Verity was different, she absorbed things and then responded more than reacted, dampened situations rather than adding to the flames. And so before I knew it everything was happy again, it was love all around instead of the bickering I was so accustomed to.