A Worn Path

Similes:

This made a grave and persistent noise in the still air, that seemed meditative like the chirping of a solitary little bird.

Lifting her skirt, leveling her cane fiercely before her, like a festival figure in some parade, she began to march across.

Under the red rag her hair came down on her neck in the frailest of ringlets, still black, and with an odor like copper.

There she had to creep and crawl, spreading her knees and stretching her fingers like a baby trying to climb the steps.