rustling to me sounds like wrestling. wrestling has been a sport since the beginning of time and is still big today. wrestling was one of the most popular sports as a kid
There is only silence. No words are spoken, no sweet-nothings whispered. No noises to signify defeat. Just the rustling of clothes as they get pushed down to the floor and forgotten.
I can sense the leaves are rustling. Beneath their gooey summer core, they are fidgeting and fighting for the golden glimmer of autumn. They are yearning to stretch their summery sweetness and crackle and crumble to bits and bites.
the trees dropped the leaves weeks ago. the leaves lay drying on the forest floor. The dirt hard packed from years of wear. The leaves rustled in the breeze, barely moving but the sound echoed in the empty woods.
leaves. leaves everywhere. I can’t think of anything else. Nope. Nothing. Just brown leaves. Maybe it’s fall. I don’t know. Leaves leaves leaves. That’s all I can think of. .
I remember the leaves rustling in the trees. Such an insignificant sound back then. You never thought about those things. Now there aren’t any leaves. They are all burned up. I was 16 when the bombs hit. Now I’m 19. Three years and I’ve never heard a leaf rustle. I’m beginning to forget the sound of nature. Wind running through the trees. I hope I get to hear it again some day. I hope everyone can come together and stop fighting so we can get back to the world we once were one day. Maybe become something better.
I didn’t know what to do. It’s like I was having a fight with myself. Two little mes rusting around in my head. Should I stay with him or should I leave. He makes me happy. But he also makes me unhappy. I love him but sometimes I feel like he doesn’t love me. I tell him how to fix things and maybe he does it for a few days and then he just fucks it up. I don’t understand. Why does he do this? Doesn’t he want us to be happy?
I heard a rustling of the leaves,
when I walked by myself,
down the long forest path,
near the great oak tree,
where I first lost my heart.
And I thought it was you.
But it wasn’t.
Only the wind,
and memories.
as the summer comes rapidly to a close, the leaves change colors on the branches. on the maples they fall to the ground and die. rustling on the ground. on the oaks, they turn brown and hang in place. and when the wind blows . . . rustling. it fills the air, the sound of fall, and school returns.
the rustling wind not only blew all the orange leaves around me, but also my paper, in one very strong gust. i followed it and ran – ran to a place in town i’ve never seen before. i picked up my paper and gazed upon the magnificent site before me. a strange entrance way into what looked like a forest of mystery. shall i enter?
My pages were rustling in the wind of this nice day. The birds chirped and the sounds of waves crashing against the shore brought a gentle smile to my face. Harmony was together at last. My pen scritched across the pages with a sound all too familiar to my ears, and I was happy.
The leaves rustling in the wind creates a sound that fill the ears of everyone, and seasons change, who else is changing too? It’s not just the rustling leaves anymore.
autmn leaves at the feet of college students do this. thoughts, dried up and pusehd into the back of your mind that sound like paper do this. hearts close to fluttering but not brave enough do this. i do this going through my bag in search of that paper that i wrote and know that i left on my bag.
leaves rustle as the wind blows through their old dead bones. Just like the ruslting of my life. I’m being shaken ever so slightly by something i cannot see or control. but whatever.
The rustling of the leaves were a comforting sound as I tossed and turned on my bed. The sheets were tangled round my body and covered in a sheen of sweat. Oh how that nightmare always taunts me.
cowboys do it. so do leaves. reminds me of a ranch and the life you find there. horses, chickens, eggs, living hard but good. leaves are beautiful in the fall when they change colors.
there are bushes. they’re green. bushes bushes bushes. there’s something in the bushes. i don’t know what it is. it has glowing eyes. it’s making noises in the bushes. that’s called rustling. it steps out of the bushes…
it didn’t matter if it was my birthay,i still had to drive some 430 miles today.drive.drive.drive.drive.drive.drive.the only thing my belly could think of was rustling up some grub when i finally got home.
The wind rustled through the trees. She stared up at the whispering leaves in wonder at this earthly world. Did she really hear that? Was this all there ever would be?
Rustling isnt a word im familiar with. There are a lot of words im not familiar with. Sometimes it makes me think about kindling. Rustling sounds like wrestling.
I looked out the dirty window and noticed the rustling leaves float about the ground, just below the fog of the early morning. I felt the goosebumps cover my entire body. I instantly remembered the reason why I was here. And why I couldn’t be still.
the leaves rustle when the winds blow through them, who could it be? perhaps a small rabbit. perhaps a person you’ve yet to meet. the sound of rustling could bring so many strange and wonderful things.
All day, I have felt restless. I keep tossing and turning the idea over in my head. What if I hate it? What if I love it? How do I make sure I do it right?
But you are right there. Telling me to let go. Just let it all go.
The leaves were rustling outside, and I was scared. It was autumn, and the chill was beginning to set in. The sky became darker earlier and with that the unknown, unseen was out there. And it had more time to haunt and tear at me with the whipping breezes and crinkling of fallen dead leaves.
i heard a rustling in the bushes one night. whether it was just his hand, playing in the leaves while he played with my hair, or whether it was someone, something else, i will never know.
There was a rustling of taffeta as she turned from the mirror. Today was the day she was marrying the man she loved! From this day on, he would always be there for her.
I hear rustling leaves like voices in the dark and a sneak around the corner in time to see the darkness fill with shape and rustle away to the opposite end of the yard and I can’t get there fast enough before the rustling turns to whispering to solid darkness and then to stone and I can’t find my way back to silence.
rustling leaves are the greatest fear of the forest elves who are sacrifices to hoards of them every year at the summer equinox, and the leaves rise up… and eat them by the hundreds, like a giant leafy monster!!!!!
Wind whistling through the tree. Small mammals running through leaves. A bird in hand is worth two in a bush. Restlessness on a cold night. Too much to think about in one walk around the block.
Papers. That’s all I can think of. Busy. Someone is busy definitely. The leaves are rustling. Everything is going on and on. The wind attempts to push the leaves somewhere, but while the leaves resist all that happens is rustling…
The leave rustled in the trees as the wind blew through them, and a few dropped down on her unsuspecting head. She took one and twirled it with her fingers as she danced along the street to the song only she could hear.
the autumn day was soft, quiet. nothing moved except the leaves on the ground. slowly, one leaf fluttered off a tree and danced in circles in the mid-afternoon breeze.
rustling the leaves as i walk by. a breeze and your sneakers do the same thing. a fall day and it’s the perfect day. the kids rustle the leaves as they play in the park and everything is right. until a piercing scream hits the air and all rustling stops. and the silence that lands is fragile and thick and a spilt second long until the chaos begins.
The leaves were rustling as the wind whistled above winding through the living brethren. Eyes followed yet another falling leaf as it felt the wind change.
rustling to me sounds like wrestling. wrestling has been a sport since the beginning of time and is still big today. wrestling was one of the most popular sports as a kid
There is only silence. No words are spoken, no sweet-nothings whispered. No noises to signify defeat. Just the rustling of clothes as they get pushed down to the floor and forgotten.
No attachment.
This means nothing.
I can sense the leaves are rustling. Beneath their gooey summer core, they are fidgeting and fighting for the golden glimmer of autumn. They are yearning to stretch their summery sweetness and crackle and crumble to bits and bites.
the trees dropped the leaves weeks ago. the leaves lay drying on the forest floor. The dirt hard packed from years of wear. The leaves rustled in the breeze, barely moving but the sound echoed in the empty woods.
leaves. leaves everywhere. I can’t think of anything else. Nope. Nothing. Just brown leaves. Maybe it’s fall. I don’t know. Leaves leaves leaves. That’s all I can think of. .
I remember the leaves rustling in the trees. Such an insignificant sound back then. You never thought about those things. Now there aren’t any leaves. They are all burned up. I was 16 when the bombs hit. Now I’m 19. Three years and I’ve never heard a leaf rustle. I’m beginning to forget the sound of nature. Wind running through the trees. I hope I get to hear it again some day. I hope everyone can come together and stop fighting so we can get back to the world we once were one day. Maybe become something better.
the rustling of the sheets always comforted me… until it was only my rustling that woke me, then it only made me cry harder.
I didn’t know what to do. It’s like I was having a fight with myself. Two little mes rusting around in my head. Should I stay with him or should I leave. He makes me happy. But he also makes me unhappy. I love him but sometimes I feel like he doesn’t love me. I tell him how to fix things and maybe he does it for a few days and then he just fucks it up. I don’t understand. Why does he do this? Doesn’t he want us to be happy?
I heard a rustling of the leaves,
when I walked by myself,
down the long forest path,
near the great oak tree,
where I first lost my heart.
And I thought it was you.
But it wasn’t.
Only the wind,
and memories.
as the summer comes rapidly to a close, the leaves change colors on the branches. on the maples they fall to the ground and die. rustling on the ground. on the oaks, they turn brown and hang in place. and when the wind blows . . . rustling. it fills the air, the sound of fall, and school returns.
the rustling wind not only blew all the orange leaves around me, but also my paper, in one very strong gust. i followed it and ran – ran to a place in town i’ve never seen before. i picked up my paper and gazed upon the magnificent site before me. a strange entrance way into what looked like a forest of mystery. shall i enter?
My pages were rustling in the wind of this nice day. The birds chirped and the sounds of waves crashing against the shore brought a gentle smile to my face. Harmony was together at last. My pen scritched across the pages with a sound all too familiar to my ears, and I was happy.
The leaves rustling in the wind creates a sound that fill the ears of everyone, and seasons change, who else is changing too? It’s not just the rustling leaves anymore.
the ground fell along as the trees were rustling. People wailing through their throats, people thinking in stanzas as they ran out of their homes.
autmn leaves at the feet of college students do this. thoughts, dried up and pusehd into the back of your mind that sound like paper do this. hearts close to fluttering but not brave enough do this. i do this going through my bag in search of that paper that i wrote and know that i left on my bag.
leaves rustle as the wind blows through their old dead bones. Just like the ruslting of my life. I’m being shaken ever so slightly by something i cannot see or control. but whatever.
The rustling of the leaves were a comforting sound as I tossed and turned on my bed. The sheets were tangled round my body and covered in a sheen of sweat. Oh how that nightmare always taunts me.
Hello How are you? I am so excted to be leavimg!! I cannot beieve dthat dthao isd happening to me/qqQQ!!!! I
cowboys do it. so do leaves. reminds me of a ranch and the life you find there. horses, chickens, eggs, living hard but good. leaves are beautiful in the fall when they change colors.
THis is the sound of hatred flowing. THe sound of anger brewing. The sound of leaves, and the sound of discontent.
there are bushes. they’re green. bushes bushes bushes. there’s something in the bushes. i don’t know what it is. it has glowing eyes. it’s making noises in the bushes. that’s called rustling. it steps out of the bushes…
it didn’t matter if it was my birthay,i still had to drive some 430 miles today.drive.drive.drive.drive.drive.drive.the only thing my belly could think of was rustling up some grub when i finally got home.
The wind rustled through the trees. She stared up at the whispering leaves in wonder at this earthly world. Did she really hear that? Was this all there ever would be?
The red orange yellow leaves were rustling in the autumn winds. Yellow leaves slowly cascading to the still green ground.
Rustling isnt a word im familiar with. There are a lot of words im not familiar with. Sometimes it makes me think about kindling. Rustling sounds like wrestling.
I looked out the dirty window and noticed the rustling leaves float about the ground, just below the fog of the early morning. I felt the goosebumps cover my entire body. I instantly remembered the reason why I was here. And why I couldn’t be still.
the leaves rustle when the winds blow through them, who could it be? perhaps a small rabbit. perhaps a person you’ve yet to meet. the sound of rustling could bring so many strange and wonderful things.
All day, I have felt restless. I keep tossing and turning the idea over in my head. What if I hate it? What if I love it? How do I make sure I do it right?
But you are right there. Telling me to let go. Just let it all go.
The leaves were rustling outside, and I was scared. It was autumn, and the chill was beginning to set in. The sky became darker earlier and with that the unknown, unseen was out there. And it had more time to haunt and tear at me with the whipping breezes and crinkling of fallen dead leaves.
i heard a rustling in the bushes one night. whether it was just his hand, playing in the leaves while he played with my hair, or whether it was someone, something else, i will never know.
There was a rustling of taffeta as she turned from the mirror. Today was the day she was marrying the man she loved! From this day on, he would always be there for her.
…He would ALWAYS be there….
Good god! What was she thinking?!
I hear rustling leaves like voices in the dark and a sneak around the corner in time to see the darkness fill with shape and rustle away to the opposite end of the yard and I can’t get there fast enough before the rustling turns to whispering to solid darkness and then to stone and I can’t find my way back to silence.
rustling leaves are the greatest fear of the forest elves who are sacrifices to hoards of them every year at the summer equinox, and the leaves rise up… and eat them by the hundreds, like a giant leafy monster!!!!!
Wind whistling through the tree. Small mammals running through leaves. A bird in hand is worth two in a bush. Restlessness on a cold night. Too much to think about in one walk around the block.
Papers. That’s all I can think of. Busy. Someone is busy definitely. The leaves are rustling. Everything is going on and on. The wind attempts to push the leaves somewhere, but while the leaves resist all that happens is rustling…
The leave rustled in the trees as the wind blew through them, and a few dropped down on her unsuspecting head. She took one and twirled it with her fingers as she danced along the street to the song only she could hear.
the autumn day was soft, quiet. nothing moved except the leaves on the ground. slowly, one leaf fluttered off a tree and danced in circles in the mid-afternoon breeze.
rustling the leaves as i walk by. a breeze and your sneakers do the same thing. a fall day and it’s the perfect day. the kids rustle the leaves as they play in the park and everything is right. until a piercing scream hits the air and all rustling stops. and the silence that lands is fragile and thick and a spilt second long until the chaos begins.
The leaves were rustling as the wind whistled above winding through the living brethren. Eyes followed yet another falling leaf as it felt the wind change.
making a noise and hearing it….sounds like paper…