rustling like leaves in an alley
hustling like people in the street
why hustle and bustle and rustle through life?
when we could take the time to stop and think?
she pressed fer feet firmly against the cold floor. The wind rustling through the trees grew from a soft caress to a vicious whip cracking through the leaves.
Fucking rustling in the bushes, no body wants to be caught rustling in the bushes. I think that I have a horrible perspective on the bushes outside, because they rustle and I can’t tell why.
rustling is when you move leaves or a paper bag or whatever and it makes a cool sound but you get told off in school if you do it aq lot during tests or exams or anything so it’s best mot to see how amazing this sound is at those times of courst when you’re at home in the shop in the woods in a phone box by the sea fishing or basically anywhere you can be loud is a great time to make an ace rustling sound.
That’s what I heard that sent my heart racing faster than I had ever felt before. Rustling. Behind me. In a foreign place, with no friends, no weapon for defense, and no way to escape what is coming upon me.
jean heard rustling in the bushes under the kitchen window. she blasted thru the screen door and down the setps banging a pot with a wooden spoon. ‘shoo! shoo!’ she yelled into the bushes. the rustling stopped. a rubbery snout with plastic fangs popped out. jean screamed. ‘you will be tasty with my elderberries,’ a growly old woman’s voice sald. ‘oh for crissakes, mother!’ jean huffed. ‘you’ve been spitting out your pills again, haven’t you?!’
The papers that sat on the desk had long since scattered to the floor. Wind played through the broken window, rustling the papers on the ground like some many dead leaves, so many dead dreams.
He would have slept, but for the rustling. The rustling, scritching, static that hissed from the walls seemed to whisper wordlessly over his face, taunting him as he closed his eyes. At 3am he sat up, switched on the grimy old bedside lamp with a stuttering flicker, and pressed his ear to the wall.
Silence.
The rustling began again as he switched off the light, and somewhere, encrypted into its jarring, agitated non-rhythm, was a thin, cruel laugh.
I hear the rustling of leaves, like something creeping through the shadow’s of the wood. Like some primordial predator of the old world; like some terrifying visage of the ancient world long past.
rustles
like the leaves
like the scales of a chameleon
oh changes
and they change colors
when he’s afraid
that someone
might know his secret
and what if they do
he changes colors
the outside changes
the insdie
stays
and the secret trails behind him
a burden
a rustling burden.
The gunslinger walked into the field and put down his pitchfork. He looked into the horizon and thought about Zack. He would be back soon. Whatever needed to be done would have to be finished immediately. If Zack returned and saw what he had done, the truce would be broken. And all would be lost.
a burglar stepped into the hallway and I heard a strange rustling. snap, crackle, snap. he was eating crunchy cereal! AHH! I vomited a little in my mouth.
The breeze made the leaves on the trees rustle swiftly in the autumn sun.The rustling woke up the birds and chilled me to the bone through my scarf and mittens as I inhaled the fresh crisp air.
Sometimes she hears something in the back of her mind, some sort of rustling in her memories, in her visions. She waits for it to stop and on some days, it does.
the paper was rustling as she clenched her fist. The only sound in this room. She glared at the watch once again while shaking her head. How could it be that no one noticed? How could it be that no one could hear that one rustle.
The rustling of the leaves made her jerk awake, peering at the side of the thin tent. Something was out there. She crawled carefully to look out the tent flap into the pitch blackness, gazing into the night. The rustling happened again and this time she saw it….
Rustling is a word which is spelt and pronounced often wrongly! it’s a sound of leaves also. it’s quite interesting to pronounce also. crackling sound!
I don’t know the meaning of this word. Maybe it is about the wind or the leaves or the sound they make when they come together; I just can’t remember – I am from another country, you know, I can’t just know every word.
Rustling leaves in the autumn wind.. The altruistic reminders of love and its implications upon the barrier between the movement of life even after death. Dead leaves being watched by a child resting his head on the belly of his pregnant mother.
There was a rustling in the leaves, as a young hedgehog poked his head out of the the red-orange-brown pile in the corner of the backyard. Sticking his nose into the already chilly air, he wondered what else needs doing before the rains come.
It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. Skip was going to bury his stash right here, in this strange metal tree. Humans sure had a weird idea of what a tree was, but who was he to question? They were bigger, needed more food.
I hate it when people rustle wrappers in the cinema, it gets soo annoying when they do it because it is always in the important bits. But sometimes when I go and I take sweets, I say to hell with everyone else I’m going to rustle my sweet wrappers =)
I hate it when people rustle wrappers in the cinema, it gets soo annonying when they do it because it is always in the important bits. But sometimes when I go and I take sweets, I say to hell with everyone else I’m going to rustle my sweet wrappers =)
rustling like leaves in an alley
hustling like people in the street
why hustle and bustle and rustle through life?
when we could take the time to stop and think?
leaves do this when you stand in them and swish around a bit
if it came from rust one who tries to rust would be rustling and just sitting there to become useless.
she pressed fer feet firmly against the cold floor. The wind rustling through the trees grew from a soft caress to a vicious whip cracking through the leaves.
The leaves were rustling in the bush, as the gentle breeze glazed by, next to the rummaging seascape. All I could think,was hope.
Fucking rustling in the bushes, no body wants to be caught rustling in the bushes. I think that I have a horrible perspective on the bushes outside, because they rustle and I can’t tell why.
rustling is when you move leaves or a paper bag or whatever and it makes a cool sound but you get told off in school if you do it aq lot during tests or exams or anything so it’s best mot to see how amazing this sound is at those times of courst when you’re at home in the shop in the woods in a phone box by the sea fishing or basically anywhere you can be loud is a great time to make an ace rustling sound.
That’s what I heard that sent my heart racing faster than I had ever felt before. Rustling. Behind me. In a foreign place, with no friends, no weapon for defense, and no way to escape what is coming upon me.
The tree in the fall, the leaves almost gone but not quite. The crunching of the leaves on the ground. Golden
jean heard rustling in the bushes under the kitchen window. she blasted thru the screen door and down the setps banging a pot with a wooden spoon. ‘shoo! shoo!’ she yelled into the bushes. the rustling stopped. a rubbery snout with plastic fangs popped out. jean screamed. ‘you will be tasty with my elderberries,’ a growly old woman’s voice sald. ‘oh for crissakes, mother!’ jean huffed. ‘you’ve been spitting out your pills again, haven’t you?!’
The papers that sat on the desk had long since scattered to the floor. Wind played through the broken window, rustling the papers on the ground like some many dead leaves, so many dead dreams.
He would have slept, but for the rustling. The rustling, scritching, static that hissed from the walls seemed to whisper wordlessly over his face, taunting him as he closed his eyes. At 3am he sat up, switched on the grimy old bedside lamp with a stuttering flicker, and pressed his ear to the wall.
Silence.
The rustling began again as he switched off the light, and somewhere, encrypted into its jarring, agitated non-rhythm, was a thin, cruel laugh.
I hear the rustling of leaves, like something creeping through the shadow’s of the wood. Like some primordial predator of the old world; like some terrifying visage of the ancient world long past.
When I turn, there is nothing.
rustles
like the leaves
like the scales of a chameleon
oh changes
and they change colors
when he’s afraid
that someone
might know his secret
and what if they do
he changes colors
the outside changes
the insdie
stays
and the secret trails behind him
a burden
a rustling burden.
T
There is a rustling in the bushes. I examine it, it’s a lost puppy. Omigod, a lost puppy… dinner… FIN.
Rustling around in corners I can see. Maybe leaves or rats or just my mind reminding me that I’m still awake and my ears still work.
through old news papers I found my own obituary but that wasn’t the strange thing, it was from 2 years ago.
leaves rustling in the breeze. Fall. Brisk air. The sun is shining. It is a happy time. We will pick pumpkins soon. I can smell apple pie in the air.
There was a rustling of her skirt as she rushed down the hall to check on her baby who was crying in his nursery.
The gunslinger walked into the field and put down his pitchfork. He looked into the horizon and thought about Zack. He would be back soon. Whatever needed to be done would have to be finished immediately. If Zack returned and saw what he had done, the truce would be broken. And all would be lost.
The wind was rustling the leaves on my way to school. The sky was cloudy but the shown shown its face ever now and then…
a burglar stepped into the hallway and I heard a strange rustling. snap, crackle, snap. he was eating crunchy cereal! AHH! I vomited a little in my mouth.
The breeze made the leaves on the trees rustle swiftly in the autumn sun.The rustling woke up the birds and chilled me to the bone through my scarf and mittens as I inhaled the fresh crisp air.
Sometimes she hears something in the back of her mind, some sort of rustling in her memories, in her visions. She waits for it to stop and on some days, it does.
Other days, it never stops, it never ends.
the paper was rustling as she clenched her fist. The only sound in this room. She glared at the watch once again while shaking her head. How could it be that no one noticed? How could it be that no one could hear that one rustle.
The rustling of the leaves made her jerk awake, peering at the side of the thin tent. Something was out there. She crawled carefully to look out the tent flap into the pitch blackness, gazing into the night. The rustling happened again and this time she saw it….
rustling with what? with who? and why are you rustling at all? did you stop to think about that?
Right now the squirrels are rustling in the trees. They are eating the dogwood berries and the rain is sprinkling .
the rustling of leaves by wind.
the rustling of chimes make me happy.
rustling memories when i see old pictures
Rustling is a word which is spelt and pronounced often wrongly! it’s a sound of leaves also. it’s quite interesting to pronounce also. crackling sound!
There was a rustling in the bushes just ahead. “rustling? That’s the best I can do? How Cliche.” Jack narrated to himself.
the leaves were rustling as a southernly breeze rode through the trees, the black, red winged bird flew
I don’t know the meaning of this word. Maybe it is about the wind or the leaves or the sound they make when they come together; I just can’t remember – I am from another country, you know, I can’t just know every word.
Rustling leaves in the autumn wind.. The altruistic reminders of love and its implications upon the barrier between the movement of life even after death. Dead leaves being watched by a child resting his head on the belly of his pregnant mother.
Leaves on a windy day make this noise, or cowboys stealing cattle.
Autumn leaves make the best rustling noise.
There was a rustling in the leaves, as a young hedgehog poked his head out of the the red-orange-brown pile in the corner of the backyard. Sticking his nose into the already chilly air, he wondered what else needs doing before the rains come.
It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. Skip was going to bury his stash right here, in this strange metal tree. Humans sure had a weird idea of what a tree was, but who was he to question? They were bigger, needed more food.
I hate it when people rustle wrappers in the cinema, it gets soo annoying when they do it because it is always in the important bits. But sometimes when I go and I take sweets, I say to hell with everyone else I’m going to rustle my sweet wrappers =)
I hate it when people rustle wrappers in the cinema, it gets soo annonying when they do it because it is always in the important bits. But sometimes when I go and I take sweets, I say to hell with everyone else I’m going to rustle my sweet wrappers =)