avi-burton-writing: Sometimes writing is like: The forest arched high an impassable over her head,...

avi-burton-writing:

Sometimes writing is like: The forest arched high an impassable over her head, thickets thatched tightly together as if to keep her out. Even the trees seemed more foreboding, hollowed and bare, wind whistling ominously through their empty branches like a long-forgotten song.

And sometimes it’s like: The forest was filled with trees. It also had bushes. Ugly bushes. it was spooky.