Sep 2012
I am from first impressions as shaky feet grip unstable rock. The path winds endlessly in front of you with unsure direction. Moss devours the cool, ancient limestone. A satisfying crunch echos with each determined footstep over dried and fallen leaves. Sometimes not knowing where you are headed leads to the best destinations.
I am from beauty everywhere. For what is not beautiful in it’s own dilapidated way? Certainly the sun, setting over silent waters in a rainbow of peaches and soft yellows, is astonishing. But is not the misshapen tree, aged and withered with time, as pleasing to the eyes? Time has beaten and bruised it, and it still stands proudly, bearing every single perfect imperfection, for the world to see.
I am from adventure. Standing somewhere that no one has stood. Seeing something that no one has seen. Living something that no one, not a single person, has lived before you.
I am from a rocky cliff face. With water slowly deteriorating nature’s well-seen splendor. It seems that too many have made their way into the daunting dark cave, squealing with childish delight as they fly off the unsteady ledges. Yet every time you see it, it manages to feel like you are the first one who has ever set foot in that cool sea-cave.
I am from blend out, not in.
I am from water and time carved boulders. Not one the same as the next. Beaten by the endless undulating waves from an ever-full lake. Each one has a story a few million years long. Each fracture, crack, hole, scratch and blemish is just another page to a book still being written.
I am from what is the difference between ordinary and extraordinary? That little extra.
I am from that little extra.
I am from a warm spring night. Just listen. Can you hear it? Every lonely frog croaking, every peanut guzzling blue jay singing, every leaf dancing in the tender breeze has a story. Every footstep, every tree, every rock, every grain of sand, every soft wind has a story.
I am from I never want to put down this book.
I am from beauty everywhere. For what is not beautiful in it’s own dilapidated way? Certainly the sun, setting over silent waters in a rainbow of peaches and soft yellows, is astonishing. But is not the misshapen tree, aged and withered with time, as pleasing to the eyes? Time has beaten and bruised it, and it still stands proudly, bearing every single perfect imperfection, for the world to see.
I am from adventure. Standing somewhere that no one has stood. Seeing something that no one has seen. Living something that no one, not a single person, has lived before you.
I am from a rocky cliff face. With water slowly deteriorating nature’s well-seen splendor. It seems that too many have made their way into the daunting dark cave, squealing with childish delight as they fly off the unsteady ledges. Yet every time you see it, it manages to feel like you are the first one who has ever set foot in that cool sea-cave.
I am from blend out, not in.
I am from water and time carved boulders. Not one the same as the next. Beaten by the endless undulating waves from an ever-full lake. Each one has a story a few million years long. Each fracture, crack, hole, scratch and blemish is just another page to a book still being written.
I am from what is the difference between ordinary and extraordinary? That little extra.
I am from that little extra.
I am from a warm spring night. Just listen. Can you hear it? Every lonely frog croaking, every peanut guzzling blue jay singing, every leaf dancing in the tender breeze has a story. Every footstep, every tree, every rock, every grain of sand, every soft wind has a story.
I am from I never want to put down this book.
A personal favourite of mine - written last year for a school project. The idea was that each line began with "I am from" followed by a description of something that defines your life. Mine is mostly places, ideas, thoughts. I went outside the box, instead of describing my favourite food, I described my favourite feelings.
