Picture Practice 4: Swamp

The dirt path drowned ahead, and the wooden fence ended. A thrush perched upon a mossy limb. Here, nature dominated. The boles of the trees towered over my head. Their roots were strong, making the broken down houses with gaping holes in their fencing seem unstable and weak. The far house seemed lonely in the splotchy light of the sun. I stood in the looming and cool shade, looking over the soggy path ahead. A barrel floated out in front along with several lily pads. At my left, Mossy rocks rose to a masculine tree, flexing its branches. It was dark and foreboding, but not quite so as the house beyond it. The wooden house looked decrepit and the window shades were as tattered clothing, hanging lifeless about the rectangular and creepy holes. My heart leapt into my throat. Was it just me, or were there a pair of eyes glowing at me from within? I shook such crazy thoughts from my imagination. I had to get to the docks; I had to climb the rocks; I had to go left.

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