lettuce leaves, the air on a winter morning, the english muffin in my toaster, the words that I try and speak to my patients so that they will hear me and hear me well. The sounds of crunchy potatoe chips that I know I shouldn’t eat but enjoy anyway. Same with popcorn. The leaves on the tree as I pass by on a winter day.
the air is cold and crisp and i like the way it feels on my lungs. i left and as soon as i did i could notice the difference. it was a bad difference and immediately i wanted what i had left behind. eventually i came back and when i did i swear i could breath better, think better, even see better, everything here is better and more crisp.
Crisp chips on a golden plate. Ketchup drizzle. Mustard stain. Drop a penny in the bowl by the counter and tell Rita I said hello.
Drink a coffee by the Shannon and think about mussels in a pot with garlic wine sauce. Explore the vacant avenues. A boot print in the mud by the Anglican church. Breathe. Smell. Smile. Remember.
cool morning breeze. Boston, autumn leaves. Peacoats, scarves, seeing your breath as you breathe. Orange, brown, stepping on crunchy leaves. Pale skin with red cheeks. Happiness.
I like bacon almost burned. Crisp and crunchy. With orange juice. And then more bacon. I’m pretty sure I could eat a breakfast consisting entirely of crispy bacon and orange juice.
When cooking for my husband though, this can be problematic, as his bacon preference is chewy.
It’s fortunate for him I rarely end up with what I set out to make because most of the time when I try to make crispy bacon, it turns out chewy, much to his delight.
That, or burned. I need more practice. And more orange juice.
cool morning breeze. Boston, autumn leaves. Peacoats, scarves, seeing your breath as you breathe. Orange, brown, stepping on crunchy leaves. Pale skin with red cheeks. Happiness
The dried crisp leaves had fallen signaling the end of summer freedom and the beginning of my autumn hell. I could feel the cold wind blowing harshly against my chapped lips.
the crisp air blows at the leaves, teasing them, twirling them, pushing them into a dance of brown, red, orange, yellow, and just a hint of green. the beautiful waltz spins around and then skitters down the street, outrunning me as I try to catch up.
I love apples. I used to live in upstate New York and to me the apples there were the best in the world. I remember going to the apple orchard as a little girl and picking the crisp, juicy apples.
I remember mailing away for some Snap Crackle and Pop wooden figures. I thought they were the coolest things in the world when I got them. I loved them!
Cereal boxes don’t have decent mail ins anymore! Nor does bubble gum or any other food product that I can think of. Do they even put prizes IN cereal boxes anymore? (Remember tilting the box and bowing out the cardboard sides so that all the cereal went to one side, and then the other side, and then the other…. looking for just a corner of the plastic bag? – Ah yes… Those were the days!
The toast is crisp, and every single sound of it being crushed under my finger makes me cringe. There is nothing I can do to stop it, though the shivers excite me…
the chips in the bowl fall to the ground as Leila attempts to grab it. she fails and they fall to the floor with a bang. she yelps as her precious kettle cooked chips
That he had said crisp made her recoil. Not because he was British though, don’t get it wrong.
Her mother was killed in a back-alley. He told her, blushing, he sometimes walked down back-alleys at night so no one would see his face which (his face presently), not that she would jump to make some sort of connection about the alleys, startled her. That he had said crisp, though, had really made her recoil.
Fall leaves much to be discovered, in the realms of the crisp wind your feelings, much like the leaves, flutter from the branches with the promise of a peaceful landing. Your spirits are refreshed and you welcome the cool air as you rake pieces of a shedding season. It may not have the hot flare of summer or the tender snowfall of winter, but fall contains an element of wonder and surprise that is emphasized with each falling leaf.
The crisp crunch of the leaves beneath our feet
Sound like sparks coming off a wild fire,
The colors of the fallen leaves do nothing
To diminish the illusion a blaze.
We waltz upon the season’s fire,
And relish the burn.
The morning air was crisp. Everything seemed so delicate to her. She felt as if she could simply touch the morning dew and the whole world would fall apart.
The air was crisp and sharp, like the lines of a well pressed shirt. ‘Why?’ he breathed slowly, warmth whispering from his mouth. I shrugged and pulled the knife back out from his chest, watched soundlessly as he slumped onto the pavement. ‘Because I could.’
the british chip, a more subtle, yet refined variant of it’s american cousin. it may exist in less flavours, but it contains way more character. crispus snackus.
THe lettuce was crisp and that surprised her to no end. THe refrigerator had stopped working the day before without her knowing so she expected everything to be ruined. But the lettuce was still crisp so she decided to sit down and have herself a salad before the lettuce started to wilt.
They’re crummy, They crackle. They’re salty. So good and so bad for you. Most of all, they’re crispy. Try our new Pop Crisps! Only ten cents for a FULL bag of chips!
the air was nice and crisp. the combination between breeze and humidity was perfect. these kind of nights make me long to be along the coast. Walking with my feet in the water.
The taste as I bit into it brought memories back to me. I just couldn’t finish the whole thing as tears ran down my face. My mothers face when she told me, right as Snow White bit from the apple. I just cried.
The fall air is crisp and cool. I walked outside to get some exercise to work off the apple crisp I ate for dessert. I was surprised when I felt the crisp leaves underfoot, because winter was close by and fall almost over.
The apple, bright with the flavor of the cool autumn morning, exploded on my tongue. It wasn’t perfect – fresh from the tree, it blossomed with red and green, and there was beauty in it but at the same time the ugly, the wasps that burrowed in its skin and the bruises that rolled on its edges.
It is great to be on top of the world, ducking and weaving, handling all challenges. I feel like a crisp new dollar just folded into the wallet of someone walking out a door. There is opportunity out there and I am the change in the world. A really laboured stretch – change and a dollar – but you need to test that your sense of humour is on board at all times.
There are things you don’t know you love until you no longer have them. The crisp cool feel of an Autumn wind as it blows across your filling your lungs with the smell of smoldering cider. The glare burn on your tongue of a cup of too hot coffee. Even the sound of a child screaming in full on tantrum. Just little insignificant things, which combined account for the better part of your life. Things that compose your home. I miss it. I miss my home.
The crinkle of the bag as it opens with a pop. A waft of salt and oil perfumes the air for a split second as you gaze down expectantly only to realize the the bag is half empty. Disappointment mingles with resignation has you reach a hand into the bag. Knuckles are grazed with oily saltiness and you bring the item in question to your mouth.
crisp like an apple. Crisp like the sharp edges on a non-pixelated graphic. Crisp like the color lime green. Crisp is as much a sound as it is a word. Crispy chips and crispy slices.
The morning after she disappeared was crisp and bright, and all the sharper for her absence. He hadn’t slept and the light burnt his eyes like the heart of a fire will do should you gaze for too long.
The air was crisp and biting to her as she opened the door, heading out to work on the morning of the last day of her life. She had no clue, it would be her last as she stood inhale the bright, crisp day.
even sitting outside mid november in a light jacket i am comfortable comfortable enough to notice your shinging chocolate eyes rather than the chill of the crisp but cool air blowing by us as we sit and talk. your words could warm me at any moment and your kisses melt me away.
lettuce leaves, the air on a winter morning, the english muffin in my toaster, the words that I try and speak to my patients so that they will hear me and hear me well. The sounds of crunchy potatoe chips that I know I shouldn’t eat but enjoy anyway. Same with popcorn. The leaves on the tree as I pass by on a winter day.
fresh, lettuce, juicy, clean, crunchy, snap, clear, clean, pure.
I love to eat chips as they are crisp. They would break into smaller pieces easily in a delightful way. Even the paper created is crisp.
the air is cold and crisp and i like the way it feels on my lungs. i left and as soon as i did i could notice the difference. it was a bad difference and immediately i wanted what i had left behind. eventually i came back and when i did i swear i could breath better, think better, even see better, everything here is better and more crisp.
Crisp chips on a golden plate. Ketchup drizzle. Mustard stain. Drop a penny in the bowl by the counter and tell Rita I said hello.
Drink a coffee by the Shannon and think about mussels in a pot with garlic wine sauce. Explore the vacant avenues. A boot print in the mud by the Anglican church. Breathe. Smell. Smile. Remember.
cool morning breeze. Boston, autumn leaves. Peacoats, scarves, seeing your breath as you breathe. Orange, brown, stepping on crunchy leaves. Pale skin with red cheeks. Happiness.
I like bacon almost burned. Crisp and crunchy. With orange juice. And then more bacon. I’m pretty sure I could eat a breakfast consisting entirely of crispy bacon and orange juice.
When cooking for my husband though, this can be problematic, as his bacon preference is chewy.
It’s fortunate for him I rarely end up with what I set out to make because most of the time when I try to make crispy bacon, it turns out chewy, much to his delight.
That, or burned. I need more practice. And more orange juice.
cool morning breeze. Boston, autumn leaves. Peacoats, scarves, seeing your breath as you breathe. Orange, brown, stepping on crunchy leaves. Pale skin with red cheeks. Happiness
The dried crisp leaves had fallen signaling the end of summer freedom and the beginning of my autumn hell. I could feel the cold wind blowing harshly against my chapped lips.
the crisp air blows at the leaves, teasing them, twirling them, pushing them into a dance of brown, red, orange, yellow, and just a hint of green. the beautiful waltz spins around and then skitters down the street, outrunning me as I try to catch up.
I love apples. I used to live in upstate New York and to me the apples there were the best in the world. I remember going to the apple orchard as a little girl and picking the crisp, juicy apples.
Crisp
Rice Krispies
I remember mailing away for some Snap Crackle and Pop wooden figures. I thought they were the coolest things in the world when I got them. I loved them!
Cereal boxes don’t have decent mail ins anymore! Nor does bubble gum or any other food product that I can think of. Do they even put prizes IN cereal boxes anymore? (Remember tilting the box and bowing out the cardboard sides so that all the cereal went to one side, and then the other side, and then the other…. looking for just a corner of the plastic bag? – Ah yes… Those were the days!
The toast is crisp, and every single sound of it being crushed under my finger makes me cringe. There is nothing I can do to stop it, though the shivers excite me…
the chips in the bowl fall to the ground as Leila attempts to grab it. she fails and they fall to the floor with a bang. she yelps as her precious kettle cooked chips
That he had said crisp made her recoil. Not because he was British though, don’t get it wrong.
Her mother was killed in a back-alley. He told her, blushing, he sometimes walked down back-alleys at night so no one would see his face which (his face presently), not that she would jump to make some sort of connection about the alleys, startled her. That he had said crisp, though, had really made her recoil.
Fall leaves much to be discovered, in the realms of the crisp wind your feelings, much like the leaves, flutter from the branches with the promise of a peaceful landing. Your spirits are refreshed and you welcome the cool air as you rake pieces of a shedding season. It may not have the hot flare of summer or the tender snowfall of winter, but fall contains an element of wonder and surprise that is emphasized with each falling leaf.
The crisp crunch of the leaves beneath our feet
Sound like sparks coming off a wild fire,
The colors of the fallen leaves do nothing
To diminish the illusion a blaze.
We waltz upon the season’s fire,
And relish the burn.
The morning air was crisp. Everything seemed so delicate to her. She felt as if she could simply touch the morning dew and the whole world would fall apart.
The air was crisp and sharp, like the lines of a well pressed shirt. ‘Why?’ he breathed slowly, warmth whispering from his mouth. I shrugged and pulled the knife back out from his chest, watched soundlessly as he slumped onto the pavement. ‘Because I could.’
the british chip, a more subtle, yet refined variant of it’s american cousin. it may exist in less flavours, but it contains way more character. crispus snackus.
crunchy hard.
C-RRRRRRRRR!
Yummy chips,
Crackers,
and
YUM
crisps in the uk.
hey mr. uk. are you ok?
chips in the us.
where’s my chippy? there’s my chippy.
cracky crisps, i like krunchers in sweet hawaiian onion. buffalo wings flavor is good too.
chompy chomp chomp.
THe lettuce was crisp and that surprised her to no end. THe refrigerator had stopped working the day before without her knowing so she expected everything to be ruined. But the lettuce was still crisp so she decided to sit down and have herself a salad before the lettuce started to wilt.
the morning dew
found itself to be
quite crisp;
similar as such
to the coldening air
that occurs after Christmas.
the kicks
and the crinkling of gift wrap
always seemed to find itself
by the bedside
throwing up and out
all sorts of merriment.
They’re crummy, They crackle. They’re salty. So good and so bad for you. Most of all, they’re crispy. Try our new Pop Crisps! Only ten cents for a FULL bag of chips!
the air was nice and crisp. the combination between breeze and humidity was perfect. these kind of nights make me long to be along the coast. Walking with my feet in the water.
The taste as I bit into it brought memories back to me. I just couldn’t finish the whole thing as tears ran down my face. My mothers face when she told me, right as Snow White bit from the apple. I just cried.
The flesh was crisp, a strangely welcoming odour of cooked meat accompanied.
The fall air is crisp and cool. I walked outside to get some exercise to work off the apple crisp I ate for dessert. I was surprised when I felt the crisp leaves underfoot, because winter was close by and fall almost over.
The apple, bright with the flavor of the cool autumn morning, exploded on my tongue. It wasn’t perfect – fresh from the tree, it blossomed with red and green, and there was beauty in it but at the same time the ugly, the wasps that burrowed in its skin and the bruises that rolled on its edges.
It is great to be on top of the world, ducking and weaving, handling all challenges. I feel like a crisp new dollar just folded into the wallet of someone walking out a door. There is opportunity out there and I am the change in the world. A really laboured stretch – change and a dollar – but you need to test that your sense of humour is on board at all times.
morning
autumn
leaves
walk
fresh
brisk
dawn
There are things you don’t know you love until you no longer have them. The crisp cool feel of an Autumn wind as it blows across your filling your lungs with the smell of smoldering cider. The glare burn on your tongue of a cup of too hot coffee. Even the sound of a child screaming in full on tantrum. Just little insignificant things, which combined account for the better part of your life. Things that compose your home. I miss it. I miss my home.
The crinkle of the bag as it opens with a pop. A waft of salt and oil perfumes the air for a split second as you gaze down expectantly only to realize the the bag is half empty. Disappointment mingles with resignation has you reach a hand into the bag. Knuckles are grazed with oily saltiness and you bring the item in question to your mouth.
Fuck it. The chips are still good and crisp.
crisp like an apple. Crisp like the sharp edges on a non-pixelated graphic. Crisp like the color lime green. Crisp is as much a sound as it is a word. Crispy chips and crispy slices.
apples
pie
strawberry rhubard
on a crisp spring morning, birds chirping, children waking.
leaves crisp like crisps
sea salt as sharp as factory salt
let the corners linger in the corner of your mouth
The morning after she disappeared was crisp and bright, and all the sharper for her absence. He hadn’t slept and the light burnt his eyes like the heart of a fire will do should you gaze for too long.
The air was crisp and biting to her as she opened the door, heading out to work on the morning of the last day of her life. She had no clue, it would be her last as she stood inhale the bright, crisp day.
even sitting outside mid november in a light jacket i am comfortable comfortable enough to notice your shinging chocolate eyes rather than the chill of the crisp but cool air blowing by us as we sit and talk. your words could warm me at any moment and your kisses melt me away.