relaxing - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Birds trill, sweetly high, the chorus as playful as the birds themselves. With closed eyes, I imagine their music to be colours, painting stairs in the same way grapevines grow - this way and that, in a beautiful chaos that isn't quite random. In the calm of the day, my heartbeat is the steady drum to their melody and I seep into the moment, allowing myself to climb those rainbow stairs.
I can feel the fear in my chest waiting to take over. Perhaps it only wants to protect me but there really isn't any danger. It sits there like an angry ball propelling me towards an anxiety I just don't need. I switch the radio off and get out of the car. The air is sweet, the weather is fine, there are birds in the sky and I can hear water not far away. I should be on my way to work I know, but today I just want to smell the spring flowers and take my chances on seeing a deer. There's something about being outside that evaporates my fear, maybe the fresh air scent reminds me of fresh washed laundry, I'm not sure - but my body has already begun to relax.
Sarah rubbed the petals of the dandelion between her fingers watching her skin take on the sunny hue. She looked like she'd spent the afternoon painting instead of lying on her back in the meadow - perfecting the art of emptying her head. There was only so much trigonometry she could take before she needed a wide open sky and plants under her back. She could hear Mom already, "What did you do?! Waste the afternoon? You must study!" She let her breath out slowly and rose to her feet, wiping the plant fragments from her pants. Though she'd have to face the music, she felt better for the brief escape.
Maggie lay back on the hammock, feeling herself swing for a while before coming to a stop. In the distance there was traffic, but far away enough not to bother her. She thought of her cell phone, sitting on the coffee table at home. Just last week that thought would have sent her into a near panic attack. But Jay swore that switching off for a bit would do her the world of good and she had to agree. She closed her eyes and drew in a lung full of the woodland air. She let the sound of birds fill her ears instead of the ticking of clocks. Here ten minutes was a long time and so the day stretched out like a small eternity. She couldn't stop bad things happening in the world even if she tuned into the news twenty-four-seven, it could only make her more anxious, more fearful. In her quiet contemplation she could think about love, the people she cherished and what was right with her life. She felt like God's whisper was in the trees. Once found this happiness would be easier to find again...
Marissa sat on the decades old green couch, not ever noticing the faded patches. Her still scrawny legs dangled over edge just like they had when she was small, but now her toes tapped the dusty boards as she sat back and listened to her music. With eyes closed she let the lyrics flood her like an early summer breeze. They weren't always upbeat, but they soothed her just the same. If these singers felt just like her, maybe she wasn't alone after all. With all thoughts of homework forgotten she brought her knees up to her chest and sucked in the smell of dinner being cooked.
With every step the sand shifted. With every motion forward there was some backward and down, just like walking in fresh fallen snow. Yet unlike the crystalline blanket of white bequeathed by the winter time, the fine grains under foot give me warmth from the sun's rays. Like their sky-bound benefactor, they are yellow, as if the sunshine itself is trapped inside their unmelting crystals. Despite the heat I find myself frozen in place once my eyes take in the ocean. The waves roll in white tipped, spreading themselves like fine lace over the beach after they crash in their soft way. There is nothing noisy about them, yet they have sound. Perhaps to me it is more like the music of my childhood summers so long ago with the people I have loved and lost. If I close my eyes I can hear my mother calling me for lunch, my father rustling the newspaper as he turns a fresh leaf. In my closed hand appears a red bucket and spade, there is nothing to worry me, no fears...
The forest does not care for seconds or minutes, even hours are inconsequential. The smallest measure of time here is the cycle of daylight and darkness. Even then the forest is more in tuned with the seasons: rebirth brought by the warmth of spring, darkened foliage from summer's kiss, the onset of fall and then the keen bite of winter. Here in the forest so little can happen in the time it takes for me to change from a child into a woman, to gain and loose so much. Perhaps that is why I love to be here- it stabilizes the rapidity of my thoughts, grounds me in a place where ticking of clocks is unregarded. A place where I can let go of the demands of technology. Cell phone off. Just me, the trees and my good boots. I only need care for the sun's position in the sky. Free therapy. Reboot. Reset.
The water droplets fall as if they can barely be bothered to conform to the will of gravity. When I hold my bare arm out of the cabin window they splatter on my outstretched fingers made all the dryer by reading in front of the fireplace. They are large and soft, not like the mean driving rain of back home at all. I tilt my fingers upwards and watch the remnants of the drops run downwards like tiny rivers. If this is the way rainy days are here I could get used to it real fast; even the sound on the cedar roof is comforting. With a half smile I retreat leaving the window open, this way I can hear the steady drumming all the louder while I turn age worn pages of long forgotten books.
The lake-side air was pungent with the fragrance of jasmine. This was no natural basin filled with melt water, but the luxury addition to a formal garden by an earl with both copious leisure time and money. On his death he bequeathed it to the a charity to run for their benefit. For a small fee tourists and locals alike could escape the traffic and the frenetic movement of people. Jonah stepped closer to the edge and crouched down. From six feet up the surface was an opaque green, but from just two it was clear enough to see the plants and life below the surface. He had expected the highly coloured japanese Koi Carp and he wasn't disappointed, if anything he was impressed. They were huge and numerous, each about as long as his arm. He gazed across the wind-ruffed surface to the lily pads in bloom, their white or magenta petals catching the breeze. He inhaled slowly. Peace. His little piece of heaven in the urban jungle. It was worth the annual membership many times over.