The water darts around my outstretched toes, cool and soft. It’s not one of those languid streams, but a playful one. Sometimes it scurries around the rocks, sometimes it gently sweeps over, and every now and then it decides to make a dash and a splash, gurgling and hissing. I quickly pull my foot out. It’s hard to say how deep the stream is, and the stones are smooth and slippery. Further down is a quick little drop, as if gravity were snatching the waters into its bowels and letting out a satisfied burp and beyond that a joyful frothy pool. The air is permeated by the scent of moss and lichens, the unique indescribable smell of mist, and the stillness of peace and beauty.
The children probably thought the pretty pool an easy conquest.
How wrong they were.
In response to: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, Week of April 11 2017
Image by: Maria with Doodles and Scribbles
The way you described the stream, I could almost feel the water splashing on my skin and the squishiness of the moss between my toes. You really brought that photo and scene to life.
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Glad you liked it.
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This is a lovely description, I felt that I was there and knew it so well.
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Thank you
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i liked the playfulness of the stream but still knowing its a mighty force of nature
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So pleased you liked it. Thanks for reading.
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