The Last of the Crap

As I finish cleaning out all my untitled word documents, I finish an amazing blogging day with a few subpar lines achieved during a 'just write stretch after I hadn't done anything but really crappy rps for a while, but some of the lines may be salvageable. Or not. Whatever, here they are.

Fingers forget their ways after a fashion, and even proud wings grow weak and grey with disuse. In this way I return to writing; with hands gone soft again, almost as soft as my mind.

Yet return I must, if I can ever hope of reaching even those heights I once soared; those heights that lay so small beneath the great writers. But when I retrace my path, the blurry footholds carved in stone; never easy, but surer the second time, I can begin to truly climb again; climb in the journey of my whole life.

Can you imagine how it must have looked all those years ago, with the sun shining on it golden and gleaming? Behind it were the great blue mountains, and it was set in hills covered with soft green. It was small, compared to the standards of Lea, but it was no less than we ever needed.

To one side a cliff, to the other a thorny hill; it perched upon the hillside easily, but coming up the narrow walk it loomed almost hidden and magnificent; not upon you until the final turn.

It was all green and yellow there; so much green in one place it made my eyes water. Small rocky cliffs grew up here and there, but the land was fertile enough, the sky was blue, and a little river tumbled across the field.

She was not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but a pretty girl nonetheless, with dark hair to her shoulders, a well shaped face, and a good figure. All in all, she was prettier than any girl had rights to be, when you took into consideration her already sizable resume.