My writing goal this week is to work on description.
Sitting at my fav. retreat spot. The brush is so thick, there's almost more darkness than light. The green leaves fan out with red veins pulsating in them. Here and there dead leaves fight for sunlight. They don't know their time has passed. You dare not touch them though. Hidden within are tiny, brown thorns, so razor sharp, the simple act of breathing on them would cut you.
Can you picture it? I'd like to know. You can post anonymously if you like.