a fine day - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I walk down the street under a sun that warms my skin in the same way mother’s apple pie brings warmth to my core. Music comes from a radio, yet somehow the background ambiance is clean, as if this music was that freshly baked apple pie upon a white tablecloth, the tune dancing in the same way a fragrance does.
White heaven-bound birds were as brilliant rays from wind-dappled sea-water; their brightness amid otherwise infinite blue, gliding as free souls. In each wing-given arc they were the tips of a conductor's wand, a music for both eyes and soul, bringing a wave of sweet earthly joy.
It was one of those baby-blue skies, not the psychedelic candy-blue nor the washed out grey so characteristic of wintry mornings. The clouds were as puffs of radiant joy, ready to disperse into the wind, to travel our Earth. I watched them eddy, pure reflected rays dappled and swirling with sky, until all that remained was that perfect baby-blue, the same hue as before, as if inviting those born of wing to ride warm thermal air heaven-bound.
In this light that paints my skin so warmly, the trees are dancing ladies, each in dresses more fabulous than any designer can craft. They move, choreographed by the wind, in perfect time with one another. They are the life and soul of this early summer morning, and I wonder how many hues of green my eyes are witnessing. As they stretch upwards and outwards toward the light, drinking in rays as pure as the rain, I stretch my arms up too, fingers spread toward the sun and slowly begin to dance.
The leaves in the park have their first autumnal blush and though the tarmac path is wet from the night's rain the sky above promises no more. In an hour or so the path will be dry and the leaves will spring up, their water weight gone. Breathing in the fresh air and feeling it on his face is a tonic for Mac after the oppressive summer heat.
The day was postcard perfect, even the buses were running on time. Downtown the skyscrapers shone silver in the morning sun and the sky was an unbroken backdrop of blue. Commuters walked like shoals of fish in a myriad of directions, not one of them in winter garb. Trisha smiled, so spring had arrived in Seattle and for once it wasn't with a deluge of rain.
It was a fine day in New York city. The week long storm had washed every sidewalk and gutter clean and a tincture of freshness still lingered in the air despite the traffic fumes. The vibrancy of the city had bounced back in the instant the clouds cleared and already the parks were a hum of activity.
After so many days of London drizzle the weather Gods had decided to send the sun. It was the promise of winter lifting, the end of grey bitter days. Ahead yawned the spring, blossoms and blooms. The city folk, young and old, walked with a new bounce in their stride, heads held high to take in the first kiss of spring warmth.
The weather is gorgeous today, that means a high pressure front, right? Blue skies, no wind, ambient temperature - it’s more like an absence of weather really. Perfect for our long anticipated walk. I do hope you aren’t expecting too much, it’s nice, but not like the kind of scenery you’ll get on the way to Whistler or anything like that. Why don’t you go get in the car? You won’t need a key, you spectral types never do
Found in Are you awake yet? - first draft, authored by .
The weather is the kind that feels like a kiss of summer without the fiery heat of noon time in August. The grass is a soft green that almost has a hint of blue and in the sky is enough pristine white cloud to show you how beautiful the sky was, how perfect. The concrete of the path was warm under Lissa’s bare feet and she was glad to be free of the confines of her running shoes. Who needed to run when walking felt so blissful. She stopped and closed her eyes so that she could focus just on sound. There is was, the blackbird song, how could anyone not say that was music? She opened her eyes and let the daylight flood back in, bringing the late April day right back into focus. Then she sat cross legged on the weed filled lawn and looked for the flowers she loved just as much as the roses her grandfather tended with such loving care. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the beauty of a rose, it was that she was equally in love with meadow flowers, with forget-me-nots and buttercups. But being a baby linguist she played with words like they were dolls and tea cups.
Rose stretched out her arms into the early summer morning, she always knew it would be a fine day when she couldn't feel the temperature of the air. Outside had the sweet fragrance of freshly cut grass and the birds chattered in the trees. The sky was blue with just a few stratus clouds making their unhurried way toward the ocean. The sun was already a friendly ball of yellow above, promising more heat as the day progressed. All in all she couldn't have asked for better weather.
With winter banished to memory Ivy left her thick jacket hanging in the hallway, walking out in a shirt louder than the new spring blooms. Her face radiated more warmth than the soft sun above and her sneakers moved almost soundlessly over the greyed tarmac sidewalk. Even without earphones her head was a jazz concert with sweet saxophone, giving her stride a musical rhythm.
Somewhere above this sky, born of the colour of summer Iris, swirl galaxies of brilliant stars. On fine days such as this I feel their energy the same way the smile of one I love infuses my soul, raises me higher. So I pause, let my feet join the serenity of quietness, and breathe. That's when I feel it all the more, sense energy from the trees, the birdsong and the very soil upon which I stand. They say the universe is all connected, as are we all, and in this moment it's so tangible, real.