(no subject)
Madelyne sighs, fixing her dress and leaning carefully over the cliff's edge as she lets her legs dangle. She's ostensibly there to write, to draw, to scribble out something of meaning to pass yet another lazy island afternoon, but with the roar of the massive waterfall next to her shutting out all else, coherent thoughts aren't coming very readily to her.
It's not something she's about to complain about. She's got a lot to think on these days, and very little of it beyond the weather is pleasant. The opportunity to just kick her legs into open air and ignore everything else is a welcome one, and Madelyne makes a mental note to come up here more often. Preferably without slipping her sandals off in the moment, since once the childlike satisfaction of watching them fall to the ground far below wears off, she knows it just means that she'll have to walk back down in bare feet (since she's not nearly suicidally reckless enough just yet to try taking the quick, obvious route into the pool at the waterfall's base).
In a bid to put that off a little bit longer, she picks the simple wooden board she's been using as a lap desk back up, and puts pencil to paper. She'll write a letter, she's suddenly decided, but she doesn't get any farther than Dear before the idea goes right back out of her head again, dismissed as a flight of fancy. It isn't until she pushes the tidy sheaf of papers off of the board in yet another example of poor impulse control, sending them fluttering dramatically over the edge of the cliff, that she even realizes she's no longer sure who it was that she was absolutely about to address them to.
Leaning back on her hands and kicking bare legs into open air, she sighs again. She's going to have to go pick those up before the wind and the water beat her to it.
[Meet her up at the top of the large waterfall or catch her on her way down, timed to Tuesday afternoon and open always, especially with LJ's current run of fail. I'll be back after work today!]
It's not something she's about to complain about. She's got a lot to think on these days, and very little of it beyond the weather is pleasant. The opportunity to just kick her legs into open air and ignore everything else is a welcome one, and Madelyne makes a mental note to come up here more often. Preferably without slipping her sandals off in the moment, since once the childlike satisfaction of watching them fall to the ground far below wears off, she knows it just means that she'll have to walk back down in bare feet (since she's not nearly suicidally reckless enough just yet to try taking the quick, obvious route into the pool at the waterfall's base).
In a bid to put that off a little bit longer, she picks the simple wooden board she's been using as a lap desk back up, and puts pencil to paper. She'll write a letter, she's suddenly decided, but she doesn't get any farther than Dear before the idea goes right back out of her head again, dismissed as a flight of fancy. It isn't until she pushes the tidy sheaf of papers off of the board in yet another example of poor impulse control, sending them fluttering dramatically over the edge of the cliff, that she even realizes she's no longer sure who it was that she was absolutely about to address them to.
Leaning back on her hands and kicking bare legs into open air, she sighs again. She's going to have to go pick those up before the wind and the water beat her to it.
[Meet her up at the top of the large waterfall or catch her on her way down, timed to Tuesday afternoon and open always, especially with LJ's current run of fail. I'll be back after work today!]