tracking footprint sand cave. cool jets of earth air messing with my hair. smells like shoes you find sinking in the mud. the badger careens off the granite cave wall and comes for me wild.
In the restaurant we were together all lost on a journey to self realization. Who am I and where am I going was the question that in the back of our minds bothered all of us. At least all of us that stayed there for a bit. People came and went somewhere
Tracking footprints was what we did for fun. During our breaks from school, my mismatched group of elementary school friends and I scanned the muddy tractor ruts along the orchard’s perimeter in search of deer and coyote prints. During these peaceful hours, the divisions between us disappeared. United in searching for abnormalities in the soft earth, we ceased to see flaws in each other.
I had to get to the next town, in a hurry. Dropping down through the valley was the only way. I shifted down into 2nd, hopped the curb, and was rolling down the side of a mountain in my Prius the next second. Luckily for me, the only sheriff on duty was tracking me in a Suburban. He was also legally blind.
His feet hit the ground at a thundering pace. The thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins, white hot and loud, thumping in his head. He saw red. Nothing but red.
Smiling, I let her go. She flew up into the wind, carried to a place I will never see. It was winter, and the clouds covered the entire sky–blank and unforgiving.
I scratch at my shoulder again. “It’s like-like they’ve got a GPS on us,” Carrie whines. “That’s not possible,” Rory argues earning himself a round of glares from everyone. “I mean, I check our airspace fourteen times a day for a virus and nothing.”
Will’s eyes fall on me. “Would you stop that?” He shoots me an irritated look. “Stop what?” I ask. “Stop that scratching!” I look down at the red rash growing on my shoulder. My hand is still clawing at it senselessly. “I didn’t even realize I was-”
“Stop!” Rory cries, striding towards me. “What is it?” Will asks, sitting up in his wake. “They input a tracker in her. That’s how they’ve been tracking us!” I want to rip the skin off my shoulder at that.
Slacking on everything that needs to be cleaned
we wean
out the mean disaster called Mr. Clean
he’s thinning now
but inbetween the dirt and grime
we go scrub scrub, about fuckin time.
Lb&Dp
Tracking is what I do. People ask me to find other people for them, or sometimes items. Sometimes I find who or what they want me to. Most of the time they’ve already died, though. They want me to track down fugitives and refugees. But the king always gets to them first and they are slaughtered once I find them. I bring them the bodies though. I’m not cruel.
He paused to look back at the younger boy, but he wasn’t following along. His eyes were focused on something distant, intangible, tracking along the far-off horizon line with an unmistakable look of longing.
Tracking back, I take to you that. A place with a hole, and a sun for us all. Not to be patient but nearer to temptation a block apart yet a universe from the start.
Well, it’s very unpleasant to have to always be tracking what everyone thinks and how they view the world. I find it complicates everything I do, so I make my best effort to ignore it. I stick with what works, and that’s just doing doing doing. No kind of agenda here, mind you, or any type of misanthropy. I just find that others don’t work for me.
I was tracking the package online, and found that it was impossible to locate the book I bought for my sister. A mental panic started inside me. Why isn’t it here? Why can’t I find the tracking code? I don’t understand; this book is important. She wanted it so bad. She was going to be so happy. Technology sucks. They say
The Native Amercan stopped in his tracks upon seeing some footprints that crossed the path ahead. He held out his hands, signaling the braves following him to be quiet. He immediately crouched down and began tracking the footprints, making notes of whom he was tracking.
I tracked the bug as it made its way up the wall and traced the trail with my finger. It had been days since I stepped out of the confinement of these walls and I was loosing my mind. Or maybe finding it.
I watched as people traveled
Through the crowd.
Writer-voyeur as I
Gleaned lives from quick
Glaces.Tracking with magpie eyes
Targets changing at whim
To quilt together a whole person.
They were tracking him through the parking lot, guessing off his crushed Heinken’s and looming over the dirt tracks in the snow. The sky was chilled but flurries still fell. The pup sniffed around and he watched it urinate by the curb but it didn’t look very yellow.
Tracking you down is about the only thing that keeps me from giving in. If there is even the slightest hope left to finding you, the shred of a possibility that you may be still be alive then everything will be okay. If I don’t allow myself this state of denial then I’ll have to actually face the truth- that you may be gone from my life forever.
There were tracking devices everywhere. They were on lampposts, they were in stores, they were on cars and trucks and vans and motorcycles. They were even installed into the tongue of shoes before being sold, as well as into the folded creases of sewn together pockets of jackets and dress shirts. Even through fabric, they could see everything.
The last person who tried to remove a tracking device from a pair of socks wound up with one in her ear. She doesn’t leave the house now.
I could see him coming down the slope as I planted myself in the tree, thighs clinging to the rough branch. He was following my footsteps in the mud, closer, closer… sniffing in the air like a dog.
I know it is important to have tracking in your life to be able to have a sense of accomplishment. I don’t exactly know how to do this but acknowledge that if I did more tracking I would have a greater sense of empowerment. Tracking thus equals empowering. well, maybe it doesn’t “equal” empower…but it leads to empower. That’s it. Tracking is empowering. The more we track our development, the more we are able to see where we have been, where we are going and what we are accomplishing. This sixty seconds seems like a really long time. So I wonder if I am doing something wrong.
I should think tracking footprints in the desert sand would be damn near impossible. Too many environmental variables like winds and snakes and lizards. Not to mention all the wildlife wandering around.
They were tracking me. I could feel them behind me with every crackling leaf. I felt like my footsteps were too loud, I could hear my heart pounding, leading them to me like a beacon. I felt their eyes on me, though they were probably still miles away. I felt watched. I quickened my pace nervously checking behind me every few seconds.
tracking in the snow.
i tracked in the snow in search of what went wrong.
back tracking.
why are all of my writings always sad.
tracking back through the tundra
to find
when snowflakes turned into ice
icicles
the icicle that stabbed me ouch that sounded painful
He was tracking the scars on her body with the tip of his fingers, as if he was playing connect the dots on her damaged skin. In his eyes, she was perfect. To him, every single one of those scars yelled out her strength, her compassion, her willingness to not be beaten down, to not give up on life. She was everything he could hope to become someday, and under his fingers, she became more than she could have ever dreamed of being.
I was following the dog, who was following the rabbit. We were being tracked by a man with a beavers hat and a large rifle. I turned and screamed at him ” what are you doing”
“I am tracking the bear just behind you ” he yelled, too late as the bear cuffed me with a giant paw.
The African Bush is sufficiently noisy, especially this close to the riverbank. Still, he takes great care in moving without making a sound. He now hides behind a thicket of scrub underneath an umbrella thorntree – the icon of
the Savannah. His quarry is in sight. He can hear the men laughing, the fire crackling. Taking a deep breath, and without thought or remorse, he straightens up, shotgun pointed at the group. No longer needing stealth, he walks forward, deliberately crunching twigs and sticks. The men look up, but before their drunken congratulatory smiles could turn into frowns of questioning, he shot. Before he leaves to disappear into the Bushveld once again, he marks these men for the crime they had committed.
Bush ranger Carl found the poachers the next morning. He had been tracking them since he found the carcasses of Nandi and her calf. Of their unknown avenger though, not a trace, not even for someone as skilled as Carl. Looking out at the veld, he’s not sure he wants to find him.
He was tracking the great big bear and he had lost it! He glanced around hurriedly and then decided he needed to stop and breathe deep. Then he breathed through his nose and detected a faint smell of bear. He turned around hurriedly and the bear was right there!
The device is attached to his left ankle. He has no idea where it came from, or why he’s there. The room is dark and damp, smelling of mold and decay. A booming voice speaks, bouncing off the walls while the lights flickered.
“Hello. I want to play a game.” He took a step in slight panic and pain rushed through his body, rooting from that damned device.
“Not so fast, it tracks your every move, so you’d be better off staying put, eh?” The voice teased.
There’s a person waiting for you. They’ve been watching you. They haven’t let you out of their sight, and they will not let up. Maybe it’s a good thing. Is this person a guardian, or the devil himself? I guess you’ll never know, will you?
Tracking animals through the forest requires an acute attention to detail. Look for cracked twigs, messed up piles of leaves, droppings, scratches on bark, etc.
They’d been tracking them for what seemed like months, morning and night melding together into a kaleidoscope of muted colours beneath the thick bowers of the trees. Autumn’s firm grasp still lingered here, the reds and golds at odds with the frosted breath of Winter creeping along the forest floor.
I knelt down and lifted the still wet mud to my face, breathing in the scent. The deer was not far ahead of me know. I had been tracking her for hours now, and noticed she had begun to lag behind. I strung my bow.
I’m looking around the sphere trying to see where this kid is. Ever since the globe went missing, he’s been on the run, probably as soon as last night. I can’t help but think that someone helped him along the way. Why was I assigned this job? Why is this kid important to me?
Tracking lovely men and strong women;
bombs flying like golden butterflies
through the clouds, through our collapsed breaths:
an empty sky over us.
Where are you?
I can’t see anything;
are you beside me, darling?
My eyes are full of ash and dust,
my teeth chew prayers and invectives.
Where are you?
Please, don’t leave me.
Why us?
Are we different from the other men and women
just because we love someone else?
I had been tracking her for weeks now. She was so quick though. I couldn’t hardly keep up with her. This bounty was going to be hard to catch. Not only that but once I did catch her it was going to be hard to turn her in. She was a beauty, a force to be reckoned with.
I walked and saw tiger prints so I decided to follow them to an old house where the skin of the tiger was hung on the wall and a smug old man sat by the fireplace. I stared and he saw my shadow. I tried to run. Now my head hangs on that wall.
while tracking the bear she waded through the thick dense bush. She was both scared and exhilarated. the discovery of this bear could mean so much to her career. Imagine – finding a new species of bear?
tracking footprint sand cave. cool jets of earth air messing with my hair. smells like shoes you find sinking in the mud. the badger careens off the granite cave wall and comes for me wild.
In the restaurant we were together all lost on a journey to self realization. Who am I and where am I going was the question that in the back of our minds bothered all of us. At least all of us that stayed there for a bit. People came and went somewhere
Tracking footprints was what we did for fun. During our breaks from school, my mismatched group of elementary school friends and I scanned the muddy tractor ruts along the orchard’s perimeter in search of deer and coyote prints. During these peaceful hours, the divisions between us disappeared. United in searching for abnormalities in the soft earth, we ceased to see flaws in each other.
I had to get to the next town, in a hurry. Dropping down through the valley was the only way. I shifted down into 2nd, hopped the curb, and was rolling down the side of a mountain in my Prius the next second. Luckily for me, the only sheriff on duty was tracking me in a Suburban. He was also legally blind.
His feet hit the ground at a thundering pace. The thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins, white hot and loud, thumping in his head. He saw red. Nothing but red.
Smiling, I let her go. She flew up into the wind, carried to a place I will never see. It was winter, and the clouds covered the entire sky–blank and unforgiving.
I scratch at my shoulder again. “It’s like-like they’ve got a GPS on us,” Carrie whines. “That’s not possible,” Rory argues earning himself a round of glares from everyone. “I mean, I check our airspace fourteen times a day for a virus and nothing.”
Will’s eyes fall on me. “Would you stop that?” He shoots me an irritated look. “Stop what?” I ask. “Stop that scratching!” I look down at the red rash growing on my shoulder. My hand is still clawing at it senselessly. “I didn’t even realize I was-”
“Stop!” Rory cries, striding towards me. “What is it?” Will asks, sitting up in his wake. “They input a tracker in her. That’s how they’ve been tracking us!” I want to rip the skin off my shoulder at that.
Slacking on everything that needs to be cleaned
we wean
out the mean disaster called Mr. Clean
he’s thinning now
but inbetween the dirt and grime
we go scrub scrub, about fuckin time.
Lb&Dp
Tracking is what I do. People ask me to find other people for them, or sometimes items. Sometimes I find who or what they want me to. Most of the time they’ve already died, though. They want me to track down fugitives and refugees. But the king always gets to them first and they are slaughtered once I find them. I bring them the bodies though. I’m not cruel.
He paused to look back at the younger boy, but he wasn’t following along. His eyes were focused on something distant, intangible, tracking along the far-off horizon line with an unmistakable look of longing.
Tracking back, I take to you that. A place with a hole, and a sun for us all. Not to be patient but nearer to temptation a block apart yet a universe from the start.
Well, it’s very unpleasant to have to always be tracking what everyone thinks and how they view the world. I find it complicates everything I do, so I make my best effort to ignore it. I stick with what works, and that’s just doing doing doing. No kind of agenda here, mind you, or any type of misanthropy. I just find that others don’t work for me.
I was tracking the package online, and found that it was impossible to locate the book I bought for my sister. A mental panic started inside me. Why isn’t it here? Why can’t I find the tracking code? I don’t understand; this book is important. She wanted it so bad. She was going to be so happy. Technology sucks. They say
The Native Amercan stopped in his tracks upon seeing some footprints that crossed the path ahead. He held out his hands, signaling the braves following him to be quiet. He immediately crouched down and began tracking the footprints, making notes of whom he was tracking.
I tracked the bug as it made its way up the wall and traced the trail with my finger. It had been days since I stepped out of the confinement of these walls and I was loosing my mind. Or maybe finding it.
The Birth of a Character
I watched as people traveled
Through the crowd.
Writer-voyeur as I
Gleaned lives from quick
Glaces.Tracking with magpie eyes
Targets changing at whim
To quilt together a whole person.
The fox sat hunched in the snow, pointed ears tracking the movement of prey hidden beneath the crusted surface.
They were tracking him through the parking lot, guessing off his crushed Heinken’s and looming over the dirt tracks in the snow. The sky was chilled but flurries still fell. The pup sniffed around and he watched it urinate by the curb but it didn’t look very yellow.
Tracking you down is about the only thing that keeps me from giving in. If there is even the slightest hope left to finding you, the shred of a possibility that you may be still be alive then everything will be okay. If I don’t allow myself this state of denial then I’ll have to actually face the truth- that you may be gone from my life forever.
There were tracking devices everywhere. They were on lampposts, they were in stores, they were on cars and trucks and vans and motorcycles. They were even installed into the tongue of shoes before being sold, as well as into the folded creases of sewn together pockets of jackets and dress shirts. Even through fabric, they could see everything.
The last person who tried to remove a tracking device from a pair of socks wound up with one in her ear. She doesn’t leave the house now.
I could see him coming down the slope as I planted myself in the tree, thighs clinging to the rough branch. He was following my footsteps in the mud, closer, closer… sniffing in the air like a dog.
I know it is important to have tracking in your life to be able to have a sense of accomplishment. I don’t exactly know how to do this but acknowledge that if I did more tracking I would have a greater sense of empowerment. Tracking thus equals empowering. well, maybe it doesn’t “equal” empower…but it leads to empower. That’s it. Tracking is empowering. The more we track our development, the more we are able to see where we have been, where we are going and what we are accomplishing. This sixty seconds seems like a really long time. So I wonder if I am doing something wrong.
I should think tracking footprints in the desert sand would be damn near impossible. Too many environmental variables like winds and snakes and lizards. Not to mention all the wildlife wandering around.
They were tracking me. I could feel them behind me with every crackling leaf. I felt like my footsteps were too loud, I could hear my heart pounding, leading them to me like a beacon. I felt their eyes on me, though they were probably still miles away. I felt watched. I quickened my pace nervously checking behind me every few seconds.
tracking in the snow.
i tracked in the snow in search of what went wrong.
back tracking.
why are all of my writings always sad.
tracking back through the tundra
to find
when snowflakes turned into ice
icicles
the icicle that stabbed me ouch that sounded painful
He was tracking the scars on her body with the tip of his fingers, as if he was playing connect the dots on her damaged skin. In his eyes, she was perfect. To him, every single one of those scars yelled out her strength, her compassion, her willingness to not be beaten down, to not give up on life. She was everything he could hope to become someday, and under his fingers, she became more than she could have ever dreamed of being.
I was following the dog, who was following the rabbit. We were being tracked by a man with a beavers hat and a large rifle. I turned and screamed at him ” what are you doing”
“I am tracking the bear just behind you ” he yelled, too late as the bear cuffed me with a giant paw.
The African Bush is sufficiently noisy, especially this close to the riverbank. Still, he takes great care in moving without making a sound. He now hides behind a thicket of scrub underneath an umbrella thorntree – the icon of
the Savannah. His quarry is in sight. He can hear the men laughing, the fire crackling. Taking a deep breath, and without thought or remorse, he straightens up, shotgun pointed at the group. No longer needing stealth, he walks forward, deliberately crunching twigs and sticks. The men look up, but before their drunken congratulatory smiles could turn into frowns of questioning, he shot. Before he leaves to disappear into the Bushveld once again, he marks these men for the crime they had committed.
Bush ranger Carl found the poachers the next morning. He had been tracking them since he found the carcasses of Nandi and her calf. Of their unknown avenger though, not a trace, not even for someone as skilled as Carl. Looking out at the veld, he’s not sure he wants to find him.
He was tracking the great big bear and he had lost it! He glanced around hurriedly and then decided he needed to stop and breathe deep. Then he breathed through his nose and detected a faint smell of bear. He turned around hurriedly and the bear was right there!
The device is attached to his left ankle. He has no idea where it came from, or why he’s there. The room is dark and damp, smelling of mold and decay. A booming voice speaks, bouncing off the walls while the lights flickered.
“Hello. I want to play a game.” He took a step in slight panic and pain rushed through his body, rooting from that damned device.
“Not so fast, it tracks your every move, so you’d be better off staying put, eh?” The voice teased.
The room was one of which men don’t walk out of.
Run. They’re watching you. Don’t hide. Just run.
You’ll never actually get away. Don’t worry. They’re Guardians.
Of Hell, at least.
They’re not here to harm. They’re just here to track you. Make sure you don’t mess up…
There’s a person waiting for you. They’ve been watching you. They haven’t let you out of their sight, and they will not let up. Maybe it’s a good thing. Is this person a guardian, or the devil himself? I guess you’ll never know, will you?
Tracking animals through the forest requires an acute attention to detail. Look for cracked twigs, messed up piles of leaves, droppings, scratches on bark, etc.
They’d been tracking them for what seemed like months, morning and night melding together into a kaleidoscope of muted colours beneath the thick bowers of the trees. Autumn’s firm grasp still lingered here, the reds and golds at odds with the frosted breath of Winter creeping along the forest floor.
I knelt down and lifted the still wet mud to my face, breathing in the scent. The deer was not far ahead of me know. I had been tracking her for hours now, and noticed she had begun to lag behind. I strung my bow.
I’m looking around the sphere trying to see where this kid is. Ever since the globe went missing, he’s been on the run, probably as soon as last night. I can’t help but think that someone helped him along the way. Why was I assigned this job? Why is this kid important to me?
Tracking lovely men and strong women;
bombs flying like golden butterflies
through the clouds, through our collapsed breaths:
an empty sky over us.
Where are you?
I can’t see anything;
are you beside me, darling?
My eyes are full of ash and dust,
my teeth chew prayers and invectives.
Where are you?
Please, don’t leave me.
Why us?
Are we different from the other men and women
just because we love someone else?
Stay with me, darling.
Stay with me.
Stay.
I had been tracking her for weeks now. She was so quick though. I couldn’t hardly keep up with her. This bounty was going to be hard to catch. Not only that but once I did catch her it was going to be hard to turn her in. She was a beauty, a force to be reckoned with.
I walked and saw tiger prints so I decided to follow them to an old house where the skin of the tiger was hung on the wall and a smug old man sat by the fireplace. I stared and he saw my shadow. I tried to run. Now my head hangs on that wall.
while tracking the bear she waded through the thick dense bush. She was both scared and exhilarated. the discovery of this bear could mean so much to her career. Imagine – finding a new species of bear?