Lets bring to life the experience of living in the moment, written for the reader to be the life of the story. All description is written for the experience; it is deeply sensory, emotionally relavent, and imaginatively inspiring. Try to create original sensations with a sense of adventure and mystery, and always let the reader be in control.
Floating on your back, you watch the sky behind the leaves. Your ears are full of water and your hair is floating out behind your head. You can hear your breathing, and the surface of the water caresses your body as your stomach inflates and sinks.
Your legs are outstretched, your toes only just above the water, and your back slightly arched to stay afloat. You can feel a gentle tug of current, and you can sense the embankments of rock and mud and tall grasses.
Birds flit overhead, their light bodies dropping, a vibration of wings catching them, and their peaceful chirps following their swift forms. The trees toss shadows over you as you drift, and you pass beneath the occasional spider web that glistens with sunlit droplets.
It is an odd way to travel. But time does not pass when the moment remains. All is here. All is now. And here and now is immortal.
And then you feel a cold pocket of water creep around your toes. You feel it slip under your thighs and up over your backside. The air breezes over your wet skin and you shiver, your fingers tightening into fists, and your hair standing upon goosebumps.
A cloud passes before the sun. Is this it? Has the eternal moment reached its end? Has forever been satisfied?
You feel the current begin to grow strong and the water cold. You see the sky grow dark and the foliage thick. The building pressure finally pushes the second hand free, and it clicks across the universe. Tick. Tick. Time has resumed its ruling. And change transports you into another world.
You bend your waist and knees, and your head rushes from the water as your feet find the stony bottom. It is time to move on. It is time to find a new moment so that time may once again stop.
You swim from the steadily growing current, and take a handfull of thick grass to pull yourself onto the cold banks. Clambering up the slope, you gaze across a meadow tossed with wind and defined with shifting shadows that match the stormy skies. Peace has turned to excitement, and the rain begins to slice the turbid air.
You shake yourself from the old waters, gaze across the flowing grasses, and spot the path that mounts the hill. The rolling ground climbs the slope, and a foundation of stony ruins crown the hilltop with a rustic nobility. Lightning slices in the distance, and rain whips with the winds of change.
With excitement in your limbs, you begin to run, bare feet through tall grass, and wet body spattered with new rain. The storm is power within your muscles, freedom within your heart, and mystery within your soul. You can almost fly, but the earth remains real beneath your feet, and the grasses continue to brush around your running form.
You reach the hill and find the trail with muddy toes. And then comes the ascent into the sky. The wind rushes behind you and nearly blows you over into the sea of grasses. The rain splashes across your back, and the mud nearly slips you against the tough rocks of the slope. Every step is a thrill.
And at last you reach the stones of the crumbled home. They are smooth beneath your feet, but you can feel the cracks take the mud from your feet as you walk around the outer wall.
You find an archway and enter the house. The cracked foundation is majestic beneath the shower of rain, but the stairs that descend into the earth are far bolder and mystical. You walk to the top stair and peer down into the heart of the hill, far deeper and darker than even the storm clouds overhead.
You give the open heavens one last look before descending into the close embrace of the earth. A new mystery awaits.