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Creative Mood Writing on Roads & Highways
Mood writing is evocative of the great classical writers, the masters of yesteryear. In The Mood Book's pages we absorb their craft via creative prose examples. Roads thread the descriptions of a page. The mellow and the maniacal motorways have their headlights full beam, so let the biros broom-vroom on!
Written by Angela Abraham in 2024
Creative Mood Writing on Roads - A Symbol of Future Journeys in Life
Writing About Happy Roads? Hope and Joy Ahead! Drive on! Steer that Mood!
A ribbon of pure midnight, a piece of velvet black ‘n’ starlight, breathed upon the dawn hushed hills. “Twas as if magic herself had wished it there. “Twas as if daydreams were birthed in its core. Smooth, wide, humming with radio serenaded cars, it was an everyday humble magic, magic that refused to see itself as special. Yet for those who travelled it and returned, they became magical too, not witches, nor wizards, yet a piece of human ‘n’ starlight, breathing upon awe hushed hills.
Example One:
Example Two:
The road was as black as a quaver upon a music score, it bounced high and low with the rhythm of the land. A perfect compliment to the green grass and humble trees that did abound in great generosity, foliage a-dancing, bark a whisper of prettiest browns. Yes, the road brought the heart to a livelier beat as only the best of bands can do. We travelled it that day in jocund merriment, radio full-loud, hearts full-wide.
The road built with good heart was a road to nowhere good. It had been made with smiles and high spirits. Even as the hillside crumbled, even as the strong earth fell in crumbs, many of the builders sang and carried on. Yet more saw the horizon, the panorama, the shifting scene shimmy as a desert mirage, a false oasis, a mass hallucination, a dangerous delusion despite undeniable evidence. Crack. Rumble. Boom. More road fell into the salty sea. Crack. Rumble. Boom. Those who saw began building a junction, a road away from the danger. The landslide accelerated. The old road was forever a dead-end, the new must be made.
Example Three:
Example Four:
The road was built of beach pebbles, pebbles of every hue. It rolled over bonny green hills and through cities. Each stone carried the heart of the sea, the breath of soothing brine, the sea shanties of coastal birds. It was the ribbon that held us together, connecting the island far and wide. For our home was as a gift from the heavens above, one given to the generations built from the divinity of human love.
Writing About Sad Roads? Trouble Ahead!
Example Five:
A scar of tarmac was slashed into the parched decaying land. Bleached. Cracked. Sinking. Its edges did crumble. Its fragments did scatter. Holes infested it deep and many. Summer baked. Winter frozen. Neglect was its norm. Dereliction was its fate. Hairline fractures yawned wider through those years with the whiff of war that comes with societal destitution. We set about fixing its surface, pouring on molten tar, the new gluing the old, bonding to solidification. Slow yards do become miles with patience and time, regeneration is the toil of generations.
Example Six:
A thief wind did chill the road, the last of autumn's warmth-pennies pilfered in entirety. A cadaver could not be more cold, nor more bluish in the failing light. Still. All was still, as if the world drew in collective breath. Leaves fell in slow motion as semi-shadows, semi-immune to gravity yet feeling her tendrils as overgrown ivy tugging, cajoling, insistent. The lightest of twigs clustered into a poverty of tumbleweed, whisper scuttling only for their chatterings to be half-inched by its team of pickpocketing gusts.
Example Seven:
Moonlight raised the night to a perma-gloam and the gathering thunder clouds muted dayshine to nought but the same. In the strain of darkness, in the foggy obfuscating swirl with a tincture of pollution, the roads travelled leaked from memory and the path ahead shut down rational thought. Instead nightmares swirled as if they were the ghosts of terrible memories, dislocated, unsettling. With the world drained of colour, in the shock of bleak mid;winter as frosty winds did blow, earth hardened around stony ice.
Example Eight:
Shadows travelled the road, born of a thousand spring leaves, leaves who’d never heard tell of the autumntide; so bonny were they in the light, so very innocent and bright. They welcomed the wind and sang of peace, they hugged their tree and cosseted birds from far and wide. Yet other shadows moved within as spectres of winter's grip, shadows built of the hymns of ice, hymns of ice that won’t let go, that mutate the bonny flow to a morbid silent shriek. And the road, it seemed, was oblivious, nonchalant, phlegmatic - as if it welcomed equally the bonny and the malevolent and thought itself grander for this strange accommodation, this warped equality of enlightened and barbarian. Trees shook. Birds froze. Air chilled. Storm clouds glowered. Still the road took no note and so the malevolent rose and upon seasonal schedule the leaves fell.
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