Writing With Your Senses

Arthur inhaled deep, filling his lungs with the crisp mountain air. The scent of pine needles and morning dew floated through his nose and he could nearly taste the nearby stream as its fresh water trickled down amongst the rocks. The soft crack of a wet branch snapping under his boot carried through the forest but was lost among the sounds of coniferous trees and their leaves waving in the wind.

 

He stood on a flat plane at the base of the mountain peering up the slope that followed the stream up the winding trails. The tobacco in his mouth was sharp and minty, biting into his gums yet soothing them. The stream ran cleanly, where he stood being the cleanest the water was going to be before it traveled on and joined the larger river. He cupped his hands together forming a bowl and splashed his face, the chilling water sending a shiver through his bones.

 

He knelt next to a low bush whose leaves had droplets of water on them like little bubbles. He picked a handful of berries from the bush’s branches and plopped them into his mouth. His mouth exploded with a tangy sour flavor as the berries burst on his tongue, nipping at his taste buds and satisfying his craving. He gathered more berries and crammed them into his bag before starting up the mountain, pounding the soft dirt under his boots further into the Earth.

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