Writer's Block: What a wonderful word
Crisp.
Crisp reminds me of my favourite season, autumn. When I close my eyes I imagine a giant tree, not necessarily in the middle of a forest, but far away from the city and houses and distractions, shedding leaves in autumn. The leaves are vibrantly coloured: reds, oranges, browns, yellows. They're just leaves, but they're a fantastic array of beauty, falling onto the crisp green grass. I imagine lying down on the cold ground in the leaves watching them fall slowly, and when I go to leave, the leaves crunch under my feet. Crisp.
Crisp reminds me of the end of autumn, when the days are no longer just cool, but cold and the nights are even colder. I imagine eating warm apple crisp while the first fire of the season is lit in the fireplace. I am warm. Crisp makes me think of the smell of cinnamon and the beginning of the season of holidays, warmth and security.
Crisp reminds me of my favourite season, autumn. When I close my eyes I imagine a giant tree, not necessarily in the middle of a forest, but far away from the city and houses and distractions, shedding leaves in autumn. The leaves are vibrantly coloured: reds, oranges, browns, yellows. They're just leaves, but they're a fantastic array of beauty, falling onto the crisp green grass. I imagine lying down on the cold ground in the leaves watching them fall slowly, and when I go to leave, the leaves crunch under my feet. Crisp.
Crisp reminds me of the end of autumn, when the days are no longer just cool, but cold and the nights are even colder. I imagine eating warm apple crisp while the first fire of the season is lit in the fireplace. I am warm. Crisp makes me think of the smell of cinnamon and the beginning of the season of holidays, warmth and security.