This exercise is inspired by N.D. Wilson's (www.ndwilson.com) blog post So You Wanna be a Writer, Pt. 4 (Exercise). If I do it right, I should be writing these just about every day, and each time it should be different. Creative sketch - go!
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Our back porch is striped in cool, blue tinged shadows, mottled where the blurred outlines of trees leave their shifting mark, dark where the iron fencing stretches thin lines against the light. The sun shines warm, yellow hues on the concrete, which is mottled with age, worn by rain, tinged with the green dreams of moss.
Beyond the iron border, deeper green lives. The green stretches high, made of bushes and trees, covered in vines and poked through with heavy-laden branches. A squirrel appears suddenly, leaping and scurrying from thin branch to thinner, then out of sight behind the foliage. The sun gleams through the leaves here, setting them aglow. The shadows underneath look tantalizing, full of passageways for the imagination.
From where I sit, the ground is invisible. The green could stretch away forever, an impossibly deep canyon filled with quiet, rustling growth. The sky stretches in the other direction, brilliant, pale, its fluffy white decorations hiding behind the branches. The breeze is very slight, only setting a few leaves bouncing here or there. The tips of the bushes stand straight, pointing to the sky, reaching for light and nourishment, straight as soldiers, silent and waiting.
There are a few red vines peeping through the bush-tops. Whether they come with the cold taste of autumn, or their color is a constant forewarning against irritated, itching skin, I do not know. The rest of the foliage is steeped in green, clinging to life, rejecting the changing seasons. Only one tree has embraced the need to drop its leafy coating in preparation for winter, and it does so reluctantly.
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