The brisk autumn air filled her lungs with needles. She couldn’t focus on the cold, not today. She had more important issues to worry about. A rusty pick up truck passed her and her thoughts immediately turned to Jed. What would he be doing right now? Would he be thinking about her? And, if he knew why she waited in the shaded corner of McCarthy Park on Thursday nights at 7:05, sharp, would he be disappointed in the woman she had become?
It was one of those days. THose really great ones. The sun shiny kind. The kind where the leaves might be brown but the way everything looks they could be all the colors of fall. You know the colors. The ones that make up your sweater. They crunch beneath your boots. They make little kids holding apples smile. They make up the insides of pumpkins and the rayon of the halloween costumes.
It put to mind of a fresh, minty smell. Something that was going to pass as soon as it started, something I would have much trouble hanging to.
I set the shovel to work and begun digging.
It was going to be a long evening.
The chilly wind hit my face as I walked down the street. I was hoping it wasn’t going to be this cold, but I guess the weatherman hates me. The wind nipped at my nose and froze my cheeks, turning them this really nice shade of pink. I hate this cold, brisk weather, but I’m going to have to get used to it.
The walk was brisk yet fulfilling. She walked through the park, admiring the golden color leaves signifying that fall had come once again to their quaint little town. The brisk walk reminded of her of a simpler time. A time when she was just a child and the world was black and white instead of shades of oranges.
All of my life, I have never been a brisk person. I tend to be more on the sedentary side of things. I sometimes wish I could be more brisk, although I am learning to like and appreciate myself as I am more and more as I get older. I certainly do not want to be emotionally brisk, nor do I want to be a brisk friend.
the man had a brisk walking pace, like he was hiding something. as if he was running from something much bigger than he, something that could consume the entirety of his being. in a town like this, men walked like this all the time. the run but most of them never come back. and it’s true. most men who walked like this were trying to escape something much bigger, much darker than themselves.
That’s how the weather’s feeling now every day, coming at you from everywhere with a little bite to it. Nipping at your face and hands, wondering when you’ll switch to your heavier winter coat. The kinder cousin of cold is brisk. We’ll miss you when icy gets here.
I walked down the alleyway, hurrying to my appointment with a friend. The air was cold, and so I was brisk, but I still knew I would be late. I sighed, as I looked down the street, before attempting to cross it. What I didn’t see in my haste was the car. What I didn’t feel was the pain. What I thought was about my friend and my lateness.
A cool brisk wind brushed her face as she emerged from the dark, dismal cave. She had been gone for mere seconds. Had everything been a dream from that point on? No one would believe her. She had died.
That’s how I knew it was fall, when I walked out of the stroll only to find I needed a jacket. The brisk air pushed my hair into my face as I walked down the sidewalk.
what does brisk even mean? it rhymes with whisk or whiskers and it sounds like kittens. and kittens are good, kittens are always good. kittens make me smile, kittens make me want to snuggle them, kittens make even grey monday mornings better. kittens are good. whiskers are good. therefore brisk should also be good. the end.
Fast is all i want to be this morning i heard the name mary briskly walking today is a new day I’m wondering what else to do this seems really cool all thest thoughts running through my mind like I miss you and the song I heard today was like i had written it myself I love you.
Let’s take a walk.
Backwards.
You built this road.
It’s not as narrow as it should be,
but the foundation is solid.
There are a thousand cracks and canyons from battle.
Some parts are not even safe for travel.
But something is different about the road signs here.
They are carved in marble.
Other roads have less permanent signs, out of paper and plastic-
as if someone created them
with the intention of
changing their words.
But everyone knows you cannot go back
and change the signs on their road.
No human could write in marble like this though. . .
These words and dates must have been written
with supernatural hands.
It was not the same as you would think it to be. Rather, it was quite different then you may imagine. Comparisons to draw; a flash of lightning. But when I saw his face, in it I could only see a pool
“Ah, the brisk Irish morning air,” he said. “Why do you have a country where the beer is warm but the fires are cold?”
She put more peat on the fire. “Because we have our priorities straight. Make a cuppa tea and quit whining.”
“Don’t get me started on tea.”
“Actually, that’s a good idea. You Americans can’t be trusted with a kettle. I’ll make the tea. You go find a sweater. Maybe you’ll find some balls too.”
Brisk wind, tell me your origin. Tell me where you came from and who you love. That’s all I want to know. That’s all I want to know, dear wind, and then I’ll go home.
The brisk autumn air filled her lungs with needles. She couldn’t focus on the cold, not today. She had more important issues to worry about. A rusty pick up truck passed her and her thoughts immediately turned to Jed. What would he be doing right now? Would he be thinking about her? And, if he knew why she waited in the shaded corner of McCarthy Park on Thursday nights at 7:05, sharp, would he be disappointed in the woman she had become?
It was one of those days. THose really great ones. The sun shiny kind. The kind where the leaves might be brown but the way everything looks they could be all the colors of fall. You know the colors. The ones that make up your sweater. They crunch beneath your boots. They make little kids holding apples smile. They make up the insides of pumpkins and the rayon of the halloween costumes.
It put to mind of a fresh, minty smell. Something that was going to pass as soon as it started, something I would have much trouble hanging to.
I set the shovel to work and begun digging.
It was going to be a long evening.
The chilly wind hit my face as I walked down the street. I was hoping it wasn’t going to be this cold, but I guess the weatherman hates me. The wind nipped at my nose and froze my cheeks, turning them this really nice shade of pink. I hate this cold, brisk weather, but I’m going to have to get used to it.
The walk was brisk yet fulfilling. She walked through the park, admiring the golden color leaves signifying that fall had come once again to their quaint little town. The brisk walk reminded of her of a simpler time. A time when she was just a child and the world was black and white instead of shades of oranges.
we are not a love song
our kisses will not happen against a backdrop
of cherry blossoms
they will not make time stop still or put the world
on hold
we are better than a love song
because there will be a thousand more kisses
after this one’s done
All of my life, I have never been a brisk person. I tend to be more on the sedentary side of things. I sometimes wish I could be more brisk, although I am learning to like and appreciate myself as I am more and more as I get older. I certainly do not want to be emotionally brisk, nor do I want to be a brisk friend.
it sounds like a kind of juice or something else but i dont know what
i dont know what this means but it sounds like the name of a kind of drink of lemonade
He briskly walked down the path, eyes downcast. The moon shone, leaving shadows among the rustling leaves, blanketing him in a blue hue.
the man had a brisk walking pace, like he was hiding something. as if he was running from something much bigger than he, something that could consume the entirety of his being. in a town like this, men walked like this all the time. the run but most of them never come back. and it’s true. most men who walked like this were trying to escape something much bigger, much darker than themselves.
That’s how the weather’s feeling now every day, coming at you from everywhere with a little bite to it. Nipping at your face and hands, wondering when you’ll switch to your heavier winter coat. The kinder cousin of cold is brisk. We’ll miss you when icy gets here.
I walked down the alleyway, hurrying to my appointment with a friend. The air was cold, and so I was brisk, but I still knew I would be late. I sighed, as I looked down the street, before attempting to cross it. What I didn’t see in my haste was the car. What I didn’t feel was the pain. What I thought was about my friend and my lateness.
A cool brisk wind brushed her face as she emerged from the dark, dismal cave. She had been gone for mere seconds. Had everything been a dream from that point on? No one would believe her. She had died.
That’s how I knew it was fall, when I walked out of the stroll only to find I needed a jacket. The brisk air pushed my hair into my face as I walked down the sidewalk.
what does brisk even mean? it rhymes with whisk or whiskers and it sounds like kittens. and kittens are good, kittens are always good. kittens make me smile, kittens make me want to snuggle them, kittens make even grey monday mornings better. kittens are good. whiskers are good. therefore brisk should also be good. the end.
Fast is all i want to be this morning i heard the name mary briskly walking today is a new day I’m wondering what else to do this seems really cool all thest thoughts running through my mind like I miss you and the song I heard today was like i had written it myself I love you.
Let’s take a walk.
Backwards.
You built this road.
It’s not as narrow as it should be,
but the foundation is solid.
There are a thousand cracks and canyons from battle.
Some parts are not even safe for travel.
But something is different about the road signs here.
They are carved in marble.
Other roads have less permanent signs, out of paper and plastic-
as if someone created them
with the intention of
changing their words.
But everyone knows you cannot go back
and change the signs on their road.
No human could write in marble like this though. . .
These words and dates must have been written
with supernatural hands.
It was not the same as you would think it to be. Rather, it was quite different then you may imagine. Comparisons to draw; a flash of lightning. But when I saw his face, in it I could only see a pool
“Ah, the brisk Irish morning air,” he said. “Why do you have a country where the beer is warm but the fires are cold?”
She put more peat on the fire. “Because we have our priorities straight. Make a cuppa tea and quit whining.”
“Don’t get me started on tea.”
“Actually, that’s a good idea. You Americans can’t be trusted with a kettle. I’ll make the tea. You go find a sweater. Maybe you’ll find some balls too.”
Brisk wind, tell me your origin. Tell me where you came from and who you love. That’s all I want to know. That’s all I want to know, dear wind, and then I’ll go home.
brisk looks like b with risk
like we need to be with risk
like that’s the only way to be
maybe
*insert moral of story here*