I love the “stained” breath great word!! I like the flow of your words especially up till the last two sentences. They read with a kind of a rush and then pause, that mimics the feeling of breathing in and out.
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The water dancing figure 8’s is so beautifully descriptive I can seee the tiny tornados that oars make in the water. Really nice descriptions great job.
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This is beautifully written!
The imagery of dancing downstream swaying with each other is beautiful, especially when saying its a soft friend in the lines earlier really gives a solid foundation of having a relationship with the water and its surrounds!
I agree the end became abit more telly than I had wanted, and awesome suggestion of using the rustling leaves themselves as an audience.
I need more of this guys i want you all to gently tear my shit apart so I can rebuild a stronger foundation!
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The moon providing a blanket for a rough night ahead is a really nice visual image
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I’ve got real writers envy reading this - very nicely done Maddie!
I like the contrast to the classic wanderlust imagery that the other entries point to, how the tranquil paradise has been stained with plastic bags and pungent floor cleaner. The disappearing pier and the tired haze set a very raw scene - well done!
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Understood - standing by to tear your next entry apart! 
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The wooden cocoon is amazing. It’s like the safe place to await transformation. So powerful, especially contrasting the water being “crumpled”. You have a wonderful way of relaying time passing. I have noticed it in a few of your writings. Here, the cocoon is place to pass time, then water carrying you of its own accord in a way you cannot divert from, then you bring it all home with the wind whispering about change. That time passing is an internal sense of movement that you capture in outstanding manner.
My shoulders are burning, so I pull the splintered oar onto my thighs. I try to relax, but feel constricted by my obnoxiously oversized vest. Drops of rain begin to pierce the otherwise perfect stained glass water. Each drop seems alive, creating endless patterned circles. I’m alone in the water, but on either side of me an entire universe is scurrying about, hidden deep within the neon yellow and green marsh.
I look ahead and see the sky in the water. The sun is white hot and hiding behind a mask of clouds. My eyes squint in opposition.
A fishy breeze sweeps by, causing goosebumps to cover my pale legs. I center myself and carefully dip the oar back into the water.
The “obnoxiously oversized vest” is great. It really brings it home for me. It has the tactile feeling that I can sense, as well as that internal discomfort. Shoulders burning is nice because of the initial ambiguity (sunburn or muscle soreness). The feeling of being alone, but surrounded by bustling life is also a nice contrast. The bright sun and squinting eyes is very, very sensory heavy because it shows the reaction from the visualized stimulus (again blending the internal and external imagery). The fishy breeze is nice, kind of offering a solid jab at something that was supposed to be tranquil, but ultimately kind of sucked… Ha. Good job.
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The paddle slices the water, a slice of tranquility as it moves and shifts. Panning out, aged oak lines the bottom with summer camp graffiti messages on the sides, messages from another time. I scoot and the boat balances to one side while my weight moves the other way, a correction. Squinty eyes peek open, sunlight peeking out from the depths of the river. Water quietly slaps my boat, encouraging me to continue moving. Sunscreen slathered across my neck and shoulders, sweat drips down my back and in my mouth, salt to the taste, freshwater all around us.
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You are very good at picking out very specific details such as the graffiti marks on the bottom of the boat - those are the sorts of details the audience loves to hear - even if they haven’t ever seen this in real life before. Well done!
Great uses of verbs to really draw us in. Using nouns and verbs interestingly is a very powerful tool, and allows us to go deeper into the world you created.
Silver glinting dancers glide among flowing emerald ribbons to the tune of the orchestral river arrangement. “Paddle!” My dad’s voice cuts through the choral crescendo of nearby blackbirds. The world turns, mirroring the aqueous pirouettes trailing behind shining, waxed pine. I breathe out the anxiety slowly through my nose, inhaling the calm of the flow of the river and peaceful pine. “You steer.” The boat sloshes back and forth as my dad beckons me to go to the front. The boat lurches just as it completes its slow panoramic detour, launching us into a collision course. The blisters on my hands ache with each laboring stroke. Sweat drips down my forehead, stinging my eyes. My oar becomes a furious blur, drenching me in cold river with each uncontrolled stroke. Relief washes over me as I just narrowly miss the branches saving my eyes. “Jesus Christ!” My heart sinks to the bottom of the river as I look back, seeing my dad emerging from the grove wielding his oar in protection.
This one is interesting. The beginning gives images of a formal ballet with live symphony music. Kind of a graceful and elegant thing. Then things go wrong, and that image is forfeit into chaos. That works on many levels because it gives us the background feeling of a river that has a spot of rapids or other hazards. That tension is shown through your images when read all together. Good work!
Yeah, they are nicknamed ‘divorce boats’ for a reason. I think a kayak might have been a more scenic and peaceful scenic endeavor for myself but I’m trying to not tailor story too much and be more unrestricted with senses. Thanks for the feedback as always!
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i rest my arm on the edge of a wooden canoe, my fingertips trailing through the dark blue waters with an image of the setting sun distorted by ripples that spread out from where i touch and cease when they hit the edge of the boat or i follow them with my eyes until they are lost to the horizon. my hand is warm and the water is room temperature as we approach the shore. its clearer and crystalline. the oars on the open lake swallow the waters to make room for us. theres a tranquil but not eerie quiet, the hum of nocturnal insects and ticking noises accent the silence like glitter or glockenspiel keys. sea sickness sets in like a hangover and im laying back with my head on a burlap sack of fish. the scent is strong but fades into my subconscious senses as more prominent wooshing of the oars tearing the surface of the water, and twinkling stars in the vast blackness of the night sky
Silhouettes of trees refracts on mirror lake on a cold canvas of swirling lilac and glowing orange. The peppered air so crisp it baptizes my soul. A rogue frog hops out from the side of our wooden prison, taking it’s rightful place on the blunt tip. He looks up at the moon still hanging, as if it were a Western dragonfly. The moons beating wings covers the lake in a rising silence. The frog selfishly grabs up at the moon and eats her with his fleshy and mucus covered tongue!
My arms let out a sigh of relief as I stop for a minutes rest… My floating cradle is rocked by smooth, glassy waves from nearby speedboats. A well timed breeze relieves me from the august air, bringing with it, scents of marijuana and barbecues from the crowds on the grassy bank at the rivers edge. I observe myself and the cloudless, blue sky above me from the puddle of water that has soaked my feet. The day is still and silent apart from the gentle rocking and crashing of water against the boat, and far off, muffled chatter from the bank.