Pixel-Smudge
Turning Leaves
Finding my footing in the tall damp grass, the aging barn beckoned. It's decaying wood and fading paint spoke of days gone by. I leaned against its side, resting my legs, stretching my toes in my shoes. Chittering and scratching sounds echoed through the barn. I imagined the curious creatures peering from under the rusty old tractor it housed. Grinning to myself, i pushed off of my resting spot and put my feet back on the rocky path.
Turning Leaves
Finding my footing in the tall damp grass, the aging barn beckoned. It's decaying wood and fading paint spoke of days gone by. I leaned against its side, resting my legs, stretching my toes in my shoes. Chittering and scratching sounds echoed through the barn. I imagined the curious creatures peering from under the rusty old tractor it housed. Grinning to myself, i pushed off of my resting spot and put my feet back on the rocky path.