Storygram #180
It was one of those mornings. The world was frozen at a standstill, where even the air itself didn’t dare to move. Not a single bird or forest critter stirred, and a thick fog rolled over on the land in its slumber. Total stillness.
Storygram #179
Several miles are behind me as the landfill is finally in sight. The cliff’s edge looks like a nice place to rest before I climb down and cross the old highway to the piles, so I sit and let my feet dangle. I take a few swigs from an old canister in my backpack and stare at the empty road.
Storygram #178
It’s a day that has chased away the sun’s heat. I am bundled up in my favorite white coat, but my skin is still laden with thousands of bumps. No matter how long I sit on this bench, my own body heat can’t seem to overtake the cold metal I feel through my jeans.
Storygram #177
Work had been long and frustrating, so she decided to take a stroll through the park before heading home. Running or hiking wasn’t her thing, but she enjoyed leisurely walks through little havens of nature.
Storygram #176
The morning light beamed through the windows of his quaint shop and intermingled with dust suspended in the air. It settled back into place quickly after he opened the door, which had sent the particles into a frenzy.
Storygram #175
Running was more enjoyable for him when it was away from the houses. He would run down the unpaved gravel paths of the undeveloped portions of his subdivision. It was quiet there, nothing but the wind and crunch of his steps on the rocks.