The rustling was impossible to escape, and if I couldn’t escape the rustling how was I supposed to escape the police? All I was doing was smoking a joint, and wrestling. Wrestling made a lot of rustling, and now I’m on the run because they want to stop my hustling. Oh yea.
The rustling fabric of the blanket hinted to me that you, like me, might still be awake. Our bare skin touched underneath the sheets’ embrace, and I sighed quietly and closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. You didn’t move again, so I opened my eyes again and continued staring at the ceiling, asking myself what the hell I was doing here.
As Marvin feverishly looked for his passport, papers were rustling so loudly that Greta could hear them from all the way in the living room. “Why does he put things off until the very last second that way?” she asked herself not quite under her breath.
The rustling of leaves surrounded him as he walked – as he went, he heard additional steps, and all that existed there was he and Abby Lincoln midst the crunch of the tree’s colorful accessories.
The ‘hello grandma’ howls directly into her outer ear, streaking through the canal before bouncing off her eardrum and shattering into shards, some of which perforate through, albeit diminished now to a dull rustling whose vibrations can transmit only weak pulses for her brain to decipher.
5 seconds later she responds, ‘I prefer Wagner myself.’
We are all rustiling the forrest, withthe trees, and I smoke them, because they are nice, and i fustle when i have sex with a WOOOOmen. Bitchen somkin hot,,womannnn. so check me out, when i’m on stage, and they ladies say hey, and I go, I be rustling.
Rustling. Can it be in the bushes? Or the trees? I can’t tell from this angle, the sound is muffled. Rustling. I hope it stops soon, for it’s making me uneasy. That Rustling. Rustling. Ah, it’s stopped.
rustling through the drawer, looking for another baggie hoping and praying she had some to take the edge off. instead she stumbles across letters from old lovers and friends. pictures bring flooding memories that she tried to hide away.
winds in the trees are going faster and faster pushing me out and into beauty light drips in my eyes my eyes my eyes and when it all fails the winds in the trees still go.
I heard a rustling in the bushes behind me.
Sure, it might have just been a bird, but something told me otherwise…I crept toward it, in case I would have scared it off. What was it…? I hoped it wasn’t dangerous.
The rustling of the sheets reminded me of the night before. I spent it with a beautiful man who I’ve grown to love. We slept soundly together and waking up to a smile and sunshine.
the bushes rustle as I turn my head. the trees are dark. the ground is moist. everything around me is startling or haunting in one way or another. i feel like a character in one of those cliche horror novels. however, if something were to jump out at me, or perhaps take me captive, at least i would die knowing that I- AAAaaaaa!
the rustling of the sheets reminded me of the night before. I spent it with a beautiful man who I’ve grown to love. We slept soundly together and waking up to a smile and sunshine.
Rustling is the sound the leaves make in the fall. Only in the fall because the leaves are dead enough to fall off the trees and there are enough of them in order to make noises when the wind blows. Sometimes multiple leaves are caught in updrafts of air and it creates a tornado of color and warmth.
The rustling leaves outside my window bothered me. Some people might be relaxed by them, but oh no, not me. I can’t stand them. I feel like other people’s souls are traveling threw those leaves and calling, waiting for me to join them.
in the leaves as i walked thorugh the park. then i stopped short. there was another sound – not of my making. it was the leaves above my head – in the trees, branches bowing, leaves rustling.
We sat there, rustling around on the bed. Only laughing and playing in the fort of sheets we made. It was love, you were my missing piece. I didn’t know if now was the time to tell you, but I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Ever.
when i heard the rustling in the forest i couldn’t think about anyone but him. Those yellow eyes staring up at me. if only it wasnt a dream. the realization of him not being in my life anymore was terrible. I couldn’t stand it.
i heard a rustling in the leaves and when i looked it was a silver robo snake… it bit me and i turned into a cyborg which is pretty cool i guess. I have laser eyes and super strength and nothing can really hurt me. Checking those leaves was the BEST IDEA EVER!
the leaves moved with ease along the floor as the cool air blew them around. I stopped to pick one up but it rustled from my hand into the air and was gone. leaves blew up into my face and made me sneeze.
through dead leaves, chlorophyl drained and brittle. burnt reds blend with dark brown, the wash of a dehydrated landscape in cyclical hibernation. beating our circadian rhythm on the dried and stretched leather of this hollow drum we rendered, such apocalyptic dissenters. we search for proof in falsehood truths and make love with the weather.
rustling leaves under my feet, rustling of dogs in gardens, cats in bins, rustling of sheets as legs tangle under covers early in the morning light, sweat sticking the crumpled sheets to arms and legs and feet and knees, rustling of hair against ears being kissed lightly by gentle lips, rustling rustling rustling. rustling of grass as we roll together in the dewy damp.
Okay one, I dont even know what this means. But it seems like a meaningful word or something. It reminds me of wresteling with rust or something in that manner. But thats just my opinion. You know, everyone else will have a different opinion of this word..
when you reach for the bag of cheetos, sometimes you get the feeling that you shouldn’t be eating these. but, once the bag starts rustling, the feeling slowly starts to give was to euphoria!!
the leaves are ruslting in the mix of the street. i love the colors of the fall and how relaxed everyone feels. i don;t want to rustle with out you right by my side. its always better when we’re together. always better :)
Leaves rustle. That’s what it always says in books. “The rustling of the leaves”. And I suppose I’ve heard that too, the rustling. What else rustles? Paper, bedsheets. They all rustle too. Actually, right now it is raining and windy so I can hear the leaves rustling outside whenever the breeze pushes the front door open and lets in cold air.
the winter winds, the leaves outside.. the door inside my soul open to let those rustling leaves blow… open the door open for the wind.. to rustle my feathers to blow with that wind… to feel the movement inside me to know im rustling.
i like to listen to the rustling of the leaves in the fall. at least, i used to. i remember the way your ruddy brown curls would fall into your eyes as you tackled me in the dying grass, and i didn’t like it so much anymore. it hurts too much to think of you now, of your perfect skin, and your sweet arms around me, and your soft lips caressing my forehead; too much.
There was a rustling sound coming from the trees. As i looked up to see what it was there they were, two of the most intense eyes staring down at me. Whose they were I was not sure but I knew I had to find out.
Rustling. The leaves outside my cell window always rustled in the fall. Sometimes they would fly through the bars and I would make pictures out of the different colors.
rustlings caress my mouth as the distilled corpses of several little girls rot in the allyway behind the crocodile who is thinking about how this is more than we knew.
I like the sound of trees, walking outside and listening to only this brings me peace. It makes me think of the way the world once used to be, the way I wished it still was. One can only dream.
The rustling was impossible to escape, and if I couldn’t escape the rustling how was I supposed to escape the police? All I was doing was smoking a joint, and wrestling. Wrestling made a lot of rustling, and now I’m on the run because they want to stop my hustling. Oh yea.
The rustling fabric of the blanket hinted to me that you, like me, might still be awake. Our bare skin touched underneath the sheets’ embrace, and I sighed quietly and closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. You didn’t move again, so I opened my eyes again and continued staring at the ceiling, asking myself what the hell I was doing here.
As Marvin feverishly looked for his passport, papers were rustling so loudly that Greta could hear them from all the way in the living room. “Why does he put things off until the very last second that way?” she asked herself not quite under her breath.
The rustling of leaves surrounded him as he walked – as he went, he heard additional steps, and all that existed there was he and Abby Lincoln midst the crunch of the tree’s colorful accessories.
The ‘hello grandma’ howls directly into her outer ear, streaking through the canal before bouncing off her eardrum and shattering into shards, some of which perforate through, albeit diminished now to a dull rustling whose vibrations can transmit only weak pulses for her brain to decipher.
5 seconds later she responds, ‘I prefer Wagner myself.’
We are all rustiling the forrest, withthe trees, and I smoke them, because they are nice, and i fustle when i have sex with a WOOOOmen. Bitchen somkin hot,,womannnn. so check me out, when i’m on stage, and they ladies say hey, and I go, I be rustling.
On a warm autumn day you can hear the leaves rustling in across the front lawn. There is a slight breeze in the air. Dirt can be smelled.
Rustling. Can it be in the bushes? Or the trees? I can’t tell from this angle, the sound is muffled. Rustling. I hope it stops soon, for it’s making me uneasy. That Rustling. Rustling. Ah, it’s stopped.
rustling through the drawer, looking for another baggie hoping and praying she had some to take the edge off. instead she stumbles across letters from old lovers and friends. pictures bring flooding memories that she tried to hide away.
winds in the trees are going faster and faster pushing me out and into beauty light drips in my eyes my eyes my eyes and when it all fails the winds in the trees still go.
I heard a rustling in the bushes behind me.
Sure, it might have just been a bird, but something told me otherwise…I crept toward it, in case I would have scared it off. What was it…? I hoped it wasn’t dangerous.
The rustling of the sheets reminded me of the night before. I spent it with a beautiful man who I’ve grown to love. We slept soundly together and waking up to a smile and sunshine.
the bushes rustle as I turn my head. the trees are dark. the ground is moist. everything around me is startling or haunting in one way or another. i feel like a character in one of those cliche horror novels. however, if something were to jump out at me, or perhaps take me captive, at least i would die knowing that I- AAAaaaaa!
the rustling of the sheets reminded me of the night before. I spent it with a beautiful man who I’ve grown to love. We slept soundly together and waking up to a smile and sunshine.
Rustling is the sound the leaves make in the fall. Only in the fall because the leaves are dead enough to fall off the trees and there are enough of them in order to make noises when the wind blows. Sometimes multiple leaves are caught in updrafts of air and it creates a tornado of color and warmth.
The rustling leaves outside my window bothered me. Some people might be relaxed by them, but oh no, not me. I can’t stand them. I feel like other people’s souls are traveling threw those leaves and calling, waiting for me to join them.
Leaves turn and stretch, gorggy from their autumn slumber when a gentle motherly breeze wakes them from the ground.
in the leaves as i walked thorugh the park. then i stopped short. there was another sound – not of my making. it was the leaves above my head – in the trees, branches bowing, leaves rustling.
We sat there, rustling around on the bed. Only laughing and playing in the fort of sheets we made. It was love, you were my missing piece. I didn’t know if now was the time to tell you, but I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Ever.
when i heard the rustling in the forest i couldn’t think about anyone but him. Those yellow eyes staring up at me. if only it wasnt a dream. the realization of him not being in my life anymore was terrible. I couldn’t stand it.
I could hear it from the other room. The noise was quiet, but harsh, scratching across the floor like the wake of a Dickens’s ghost.
in the wood u heard a sound of bird in there nest.. but when u look up u see a snake about to eat there young…
i heard a rustling in the leaves and when i looked it was a silver robo snake… it bit me and i turned into a cyborg which is pretty cool i guess. I have laser eyes and super strength and nothing can really hurt me. Checking those leaves was the BEST IDEA EVER!
the leaves moved with ease along the floor as the cool air blew them around. I stopped to pick one up but it rustled from my hand into the air and was gone. leaves blew up into my face and made me sneeze.
crunch leaves fall red orange crush crack moving slowly escape unseen getaway
through dead leaves, chlorophyl drained and brittle. burnt reds blend with dark brown, the wash of a dehydrated landscape in cyclical hibernation. beating our circadian rhythm on the dried and stretched leather of this hollow drum we rendered, such apocalyptic dissenters. we search for proof in falsehood truths and make love with the weather.
rustling leaves under my feet, rustling of dogs in gardens, cats in bins, rustling of sheets as legs tangle under covers early in the morning light, sweat sticking the crumpled sheets to arms and legs and feet and knees, rustling of hair against ears being kissed lightly by gentle lips, rustling rustling rustling. rustling of grass as we roll together in the dewy damp.
Okay one, I dont even know what this means. But it seems like a meaningful word or something. It reminds me of wresteling with rust or something in that manner. But thats just my opinion. You know, everyone else will have a different opinion of this word..
i hope i bring happiness to the rustling ones
when you reach for the bag of cheetos, sometimes you get the feeling that you shouldn’t be eating these. but, once the bag starts rustling, the feeling slowly starts to give was to euphoria!!
the trees are rustling outside
it might rain
but i’m happy on this summer day
no matter what the weather brings me
i’ll be okay.
the leaves are ruslting in the mix of the street. i love the colors of the fall and how relaxed everyone feels. i don;t want to rustle with out you right by my side. its always better when we’re together. always better :)
Leaves rustle. That’s what it always says in books. “The rustling of the leaves”. And I suppose I’ve heard that too, the rustling. What else rustles? Paper, bedsheets. They all rustle too. Actually, right now it is raining and windy so I can hear the leaves rustling outside whenever the breeze pushes the front door open and lets in cold air.
the winter winds, the leaves outside.. the door inside my soul open to let those rustling leaves blow… open the door open for the wind.. to rustle my feathers to blow with that wind… to feel the movement inside me to know im rustling.
i like to listen to the rustling of the leaves in the fall. at least, i used to. i remember the way your ruddy brown curls would fall into your eyes as you tackled me in the dying grass, and i didn’t like it so much anymore. it hurts too much to think of you now, of your perfect skin, and your sweet arms around me, and your soft lips caressing my forehead; too much.
There was a rustling sound coming from the trees. As i looked up to see what it was there they were, two of the most intense eyes staring down at me. Whose they were I was not sure but I knew I had to find out.
Rustling. The leaves outside my cell window always rustled in the fall. Sometimes they would fly through the bars and I would make pictures out of the different colors.
rustlings caress my mouth as the distilled corpses of several little girls rot in the allyway behind the crocodile who is thinking about how this is more than we knew.
trees blowing in the wind, a beautiful lake with the cottage, my family on the boat, laughing and frolicking in the sun. canada in the summer
I like the sound of trees, walking outside and listening to only this brings me peace. It makes me think of the way the world once used to be, the way I wished it still was. One can only dream.