I found him rustling through papers, while waiting for his coffee. He was just so damned cute. I regret being in a relationship and having to pass him by. He’s so perfect.
The rustling, fallen leaves reminded me of him. How he looked as they pulled his lifeless body from the car. Dead. Broken. Only good for replenishing the soil.
I heard the leaves in the breeze. they had just started falling. The scenery was so beautiful. Everywhere I looked was orange and red. The fall was always my favorite season.
The leaves became orange as the autumn trees blew into their branches. Crispy brown and red leaves fall onto the ground. I softly step on them as the rustling foliage can be felt in between my toes.
this word really makes me wish it were fall already. fall only lasts for, like, three days in oklahoma, but they’re all perfect. it’s still warm in late september, so we’re lucky if the leaves are really rustling by late october.
leaves. leaves rustle in the fall. it’s a pretty noise. that’s what rustling is. the only thing that rustles is leaves. the pretty purple leaves in the pretty blue wind. it’s sunny. or it’s dark. there are no clouds. it’s beautiful. and it’s cold and it’s blue and orange.
there were papers on the table, an open book, and a spot of water where the roof was leaking onto the old wood. She gazed up, let the wind from the open window rustle the pages of the books, and sighed. More money to spend on her mother’s house.
There was a bike in the backyard. It had belonged to their son, before he went away to college, got married, had his own son, stopped writing letters, stopped calling. It gathered dust, rust and sometimes they considered throwing it away. But looking out on the grass, the rustling leaves, the fence, the places he used to play, used to hide..his mother decided to keep it for another year.
The rustling of the newspaper was driving her nuts. Why did he insist on reading it in bed? She had been kept awake all night by his snoring and he couldn’t even leave her in peace now!
Leaves. This word has me thinking of leaves falling from trees on a crisp fall morning. I am sitting on the deck, reading the paper and drinking tea. The leaves are vibrant in their colors of orange, red and yellows. The leaves are falling and I am thinking to myself “when will I begin raking them up, maybe next weekend or the one after, after more fall from the trees.”
Fall is coming, you can just start to feel it in the morning air. My favorite thing in the fall is the color of the leaves and the rustling sound they make on my walks.
My heart is rustling today. It is moving for the hurt, the broken, the wandering, and lonely. It rustles like the leaves falling off of a tree. Leaves are curious things. They seem completely calm until the wind comes and rustles them up off of the ground, when they suddenly become extremely chaotic.
tree leaves are rustling about on a fall day. It is warm enough to have a picnic but there is still a slight breeze. Enouph to give a chill to bare shoulders. They layed there beside the large elm tree, wondering whether this would be the last time they would hold eachother…
Leaves rustle sometimes. Yep. Rustle rustle. Things rustle at night as well, scares you, makes it so you can’t sleep. The demons in the room have the same effect, but, I can’t tell people about them, they mad.
its very windy right now, i feel like crawling into a womb of blankets and comfort and letting the hushhushhush carry me off to sleep. blissful sleep, which will be filled with –
the leaves fall from the trees and rustle in the wind.
kids kick their shoes off in the grass and lay down as the leaves brush past their ears in a sweet melody of rhythmic pulsing wind chimes.
Rustling…. the enemy. Light… the enemy. I must be silent, swift, and deadly. Nobody ever sees me coming, not even when it’s too late. I am a shadow beneath a ghost, a whisper under the clouds…. I am a ninja.
I heard a rustling in the bushes, and promptly bent down to investigate. There, amongst a nest of twigs and various colors of leaves, were a pair of chicks, fallen from the tree and lost by their mother.
The rusting of the wind through the hemp strewn make-shift blinds sent a shiver through me reminding me of far-away Oregon and the family I left behind.
i just got this word but i guess i will write about it again cause there is nothing else to write about. when i think of the word rustling i think of the fall the leaves on the ground and so many animals trudging though the leaves
in the woods there is a bear rustling through the dry leaves on the ground. the leaves were so dry that the rustling is loud and crackling. fall has come
Me n ol’ uncle peet were just having ourselfs a great ol’ time rustling up cattle when the alarm went off, we werent sure what was going on but ol’ Yeller had a feeling it wasnt looking good. He leaped to the barnyard with us trailing behind him. We didnt know what to expect but sure as heck we wanted to be prepared for it so we grabbed our slingshots just in case! Turned out it was just the neighbourhood fox trying to grab some chickens for lunch again
She heard the sound of the leaves rustling as the wind moved through them. The waves lazily beating she shower and the motorboats also filled her ears. Then, the faint sound of insects and probably birds. As the breezes touched her she took in all there was to love about summers back home.
the leaves rustled in the wind. i sighed hoping that it was mom’s way of telling me to get up and move forward with my life. but how can i move forward when i would give anything to go back? with thoughts rustling like said leaves, i stood up not ready to face the world.
Paper rustles. So does taffeta. It can be a pleasant sound, perhaps you like the sound of rustling dress skirts or papers. It can be frantic, like if you are looking for something that you lost.
Rustling. Irgendwie kleinteilig, verschränkt, verwobene Schrauben der Wirklichkeit, ausgestreut auf dem Boden der Tatsachen. Ewig erfolglose Suche nach der passenden Mutter, und falls sie wirklich auftauchen sollte, ist garantiert nicht der richtige Schlüssel dafür da …
The sound that leaves make in the wind. Random yet so perfect that it couldn’t possibly be any other way. The sound of stiff cotton sheets against the cool air. The sound of digging through a closet looking for your warmest scarf
I found him rustling through papers, while waiting for his coffee. He was just so damned cute. I regret being in a relationship and having to pass him by. He’s so perfect.
The rustling, fallen leaves reminded me of him. How he looked as they pulled his lifeless body from the car. Dead. Broken. Only good for replenishing the soil.
I heard the leaves in the breeze. they had just started falling. The scenery was so beautiful. Everywhere I looked was orange and red. The fall was always my favorite season.
There’s something rustling in the tree. I can’t tell what it is–maybe a squirrel, a bird, or a tree frog.
The leaves became orange as the autumn trees blew into their branches. Crispy brown and red leaves fall onto the ground. I softly step on them as the rustling foliage can be felt in between my toes.
this word really makes me wish it were fall already. fall only lasts for, like, three days in oklahoma, but they’re all perfect. it’s still warm in late september, so we’re lucky if the leaves are really rustling by late october.
leaves. leaves rustle in the fall. it’s a pretty noise. that’s what rustling is. the only thing that rustles is leaves. the pretty purple leaves in the pretty blue wind. it’s sunny. or it’s dark. there are no clouds. it’s beautiful. and it’s cold and it’s blue and orange.
The leaves trembled at the insinuating and oh-so-demanding touch of the wind. How could they say no? They were at its mercy.
there were papers on the table, an open book, and a spot of water where the roof was leaking onto the old wood. She gazed up, let the wind from the open window rustle the pages of the books, and sighed. More money to spend on her mother’s house.
There was a bike in the backyard. It had belonged to their son, before he went away to college, got married, had his own son, stopped writing letters, stopped calling. It gathered dust, rust and sometimes they considered throwing it away. But looking out on the grass, the rustling leaves, the fence, the places he used to play, used to hide..his mother decided to keep it for another year.
The rustling of the newspaper was driving her nuts. Why did he insist on reading it in bed? She had been kept awake all night by his snoring and he couldn’t even leave her in peace now!
Leaves. This word has me thinking of leaves falling from trees on a crisp fall morning. I am sitting on the deck, reading the paper and drinking tea. The leaves are vibrant in their colors of orange, red and yellows. The leaves are falling and I am thinking to myself “when will I begin raking them up, maybe next weekend or the one after, after more fall from the trees.”
The wind blows gently on a warm sunny day, leaves rustling, birds singing, bees buzzing . . .all is well.
There was a rustling in the grass. I caught my breath and started to run, but curiousity stopped me short. I crept up closer, then stopped again.
Fall is coming, you can just start to feel it in the morning air. My favorite thing in the fall is the color of the leaves and the rustling sound they make on my walks.
My heart is rustling today. It is moving for the hurt, the broken, the wandering, and lonely. It rustles like the leaves falling off of a tree. Leaves are curious things. They seem completely calm until the wind comes and rustles them up off of the ground, when they suddenly become extremely chaotic.
tree leaves are rustling about on a fall day. It is warm enough to have a picnic but there is still a slight breeze. Enouph to give a chill to bare shoulders. They layed there beside the large elm tree, wondering whether this would be the last time they would hold eachother…
Leaves rustle sometimes. Yep. Rustle rustle. Things rustle at night as well, scares you, makes it so you can’t sleep. The demons in the room have the same effect, but, I can’t tell people about them, they mad.
its very windy right now, i feel like crawling into a womb of blankets and comfort and letting the hushhushhush carry me off to sleep. blissful sleep, which will be filled with –
the leaves fall from the trees and rustle in the wind.
kids kick their shoes off in the grass and lay down as the leaves brush past their ears in a sweet melody of rhythmic pulsing wind chimes.
Rustling…. the enemy. Light… the enemy. I must be silent, swift, and deadly. Nobody ever sees me coming, not even when it’s too late. I am a shadow beneath a ghost, a whisper under the clouds…. I am a ninja.
The leaves are rustling in the breeze, like the trees are whispering…
I heard a rustling in the bushes, and promptly bent down to investigate. There, amongst a nest of twigs and various colors of leaves, were a pair of chicks, fallen from the tree and lost by their mother.
The rusting of the wind through the hemp strewn make-shift blinds sent a shiver through me reminding me of far-away Oregon and the family I left behind.
I was out rustling cats when got the feeling they really didn’t like this. I can tell by the nasty scratches that now cover my whole body
i just got this word but i guess i will write about it again cause there is nothing else to write about. when i think of the word rustling i think of the fall the leaves on the ground and so many animals trudging though the leaves
in the woods there is a bear rustling through the dry leaves on the ground. the leaves were so dry that the rustling is loud and crackling. fall has come
Me n ol’ uncle peet were just having ourselfs a great ol’ time rustling up cattle when the alarm went off, we werent sure what was going on but ol’ Yeller had a feeling it wasnt looking good. He leaped to the barnyard with us trailing behind him. We didnt know what to expect but sure as heck we wanted to be prepared for it so we grabbed our slingshots just in case! Turned out it was just the neighbourhood fox trying to grab some chickens for lunch again
I love the sound of rustling leaves in the fall.
only the rustling of the freshly fallen leaves breaks this silence. tension surrounds us as we stare at each other and know this is the end.
She heard the sound of the leaves rustling as the wind moved through them. The waves lazily beating she shower and the motorboats also filled her ears. Then, the faint sound of insects and probably birds. As the breezes touched her she took in all there was to love about summers back home.
leaves me feeling like i am falling.
the leaves rustling
remind me of the fall
which I really wish
would not come at all
can’t it be summer
forever?
this endless, joyful summer
of discovery
it’s summer forever in my heart
I will try to make it so
the leaves rustled in the wind. i sighed hoping that it was mom’s way of telling me to get up and move forward with my life. but how can i move forward when i would give anything to go back? with thoughts rustling like said leaves, i stood up not ready to face the world.
Paper rustles. So does taffeta. It can be a pleasant sound, perhaps you like the sound of rustling dress skirts or papers. It can be frantic, like if you are looking for something that you lost.
Dude, leaves.
leaf… autumn… nice.
part human part machine
Rustling. Irgendwie kleinteilig, verschränkt, verwobene Schrauben der Wirklichkeit, ausgestreut auf dem Boden der Tatsachen. Ewig erfolglose Suche nach der passenden Mutter, und falls sie wirklich auftauchen sollte, ist garantiert nicht der richtige Schlüssel dafür da …
The sound that leaves make in the wind. Random yet so perfect that it couldn’t possibly be any other way. The sound of stiff cotton sheets against the cool air. The sound of digging through a closet looking for your warmest scarf