I've been thinking about green and moss a lot lately, and also about how I'm writing less and less. I went through the archives of my blog yesterday and I used to post a writing exercise quite frequently.
With that in mind, I'm going to start doing some unstructred freewrites, or prosepoems. Here's one I wrote earlier.
I’m walking barefoot on the spongy moss, like blankets under my feet. The green carpet scrolls on ahead of me, carelessly spilling up tree trunks and cutting through paths. The tiny plants lift up acorns and other small things, as if the forest is putting its most beautiful art on pedestals just for my viewing; an outdoor art gallery that changes its displays four times a year. You should visit; it’s free entry.