

Old WoodOld wood, and water, and rain.Old Wood
The old wood beneath my feet is wet. Wet with the small river of water that runs under it as the sky slowly lets loose a patter of rain.
The smell of wet wood and memories drift up. Is it the wood or the smell? Or just the memories that are so clear?
Scenes of playing in the damp wood after a rain, and the gentle patter upon the leaves and the wood of the damp forest floor.
Old wood, and water, and rain.
The small river runs under my feet, mingling with the wet, damp, soaking smell of the wood, still sturdy under the y
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"The problem with defending the purity of the English language is that English is about as pure as a cribhouse whore. We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat them unconscious and rifle their pock
:> but please would like some more input of that rpg that cluedog is talking about ;D
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Do you GOT IT?
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"Either those curtains go or I do"
-Oscar Wilde, on his deathbed.
"Either this man is dead or my watch has stopped."
-Groucho Marx
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~Of course failure is not an option, it's a result!
~Despite what they say, reality is in the eyes of the beholder, and therefore up for grabs!
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