Blantie (cirithmusings) wrote in element_musings,

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-->They don't have to make sense or follow a pattern nor any distinguishable grammatical structure. They are merely thoughts, "tied to a horse that will never tire", that stemmed from an original theme. This theme happens to be Earth, elaborated on through subcategories.

forests: Life-giving greenwood; house of leaves. the soft grass trailing blankets beneath my feet. chartreuse leaves fall, wafted from the branches. Trees willow and bend in the breeze, and in the sky the white moon looms overhead; forcing its will on the world. A warm embrace with soft kisses of dew waits for me, with fruit of the sweetest juices and gentle mist from dripping willows and fresh smelling pines; the giver of dreams who showed himself to me with the gentle growth of wet emerald ferns.

swamp: skulls buried far beneath the mud--pine and olive mud. stagnant pools of black water. Thick tousle of overgrown pines and drooping hemlocks, vines reaching and scratching at the invisible path through marshland grasses and fallen trunks; a home for owls and dark wetland creatures, frogs, water snakes, and crows. Pits and quagmires, muddy weeds and humid, choking mosses covering all the living and dead. Hemlock roots lay peeking from the waters that surround them, black water that smothers, rots, mars all it touches. Sleep in the mire of death, lay down in its rotting core, let its darkened waters come up to meet you, to haunt your memories all the days of your life.

beach: soft sand beneath my feet, golden crystals. the sand's gold and white hues meshing together before the waters rush up to meet them (moist, dripping mud of sand to come of it) and pull them away, bringing them to a new place to rest at the bottom with the sea plants--a new beginning. Gulls cry and waters gurgle, buck, and spray.

rock: the rock bears fury. It sows its hatred in living things, hardness, repercussions, and disdain. gray and black swirl etched in the stone surface, brought into life from beneath--from the mountain catacomb. callous grains of metal and rock. Dust has become a weapon.

desert: it will eat you alive and bury you with the rest of the dead of its land. hot, merciless, brutal, burning, insatiable fire. The air itself sizzles, the warmth rises to meet my face in agony. I cringe against the heat, but it doesn't help, nor does my sweat quench my various thirsts. The sand burns through my boots and singes my skin as the wind whips the desert floor across my entire being. I beg for the Element of Water to replenish the eart that dies of thirst, but most of all I beg for darkness of senses.
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