aerial view - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
When levitating to the heavens, the town turns into a two dimensional piece of paper - filled with a child's crayon. Although the colors fall out of line, it becomes uniformly shaped chunks of green and gray, with carelessly spilled blue in places. Nothing to regret leaving.
To witness the aerial view of the town at night was like being hailed by the angels, the lights stole your breath away in the most magical way possible. Down there were thousands of souls who's lights burned just as brightly as the artificial bulbs. Each one of them was a star, it was just that under the haze of everyday life they came to forget it and believe themselves ordinary. But like the "ordinary" air and the "ordinary" water, they are the purity that makes the world so enchanting, so beautiful, so worth living in.
From so high up every home was like an autumn leaf lying gently on the Earth. Around them was the green of the trees and the roads shining like silvery stems on a frosted morning. The clouds moved in a breeze we couldn't feel through our suits and the world below was so enchanting it was a privilege just to breathe the sweet air. Our mother earth, our home.
When the clouds shifted the earth below was the most astonishing sight of all, like a child sleeping under her puffed duvet of white. She could never be more beautiful, more enchanting, more delicate. From up here I wish I could make my love rain down a protection upon her and keep her safe for all time. I wish I could take all the money in every vault, all the gold and simply make it vanish so that the greedy ones could come out of their trance and learn the pricelessness of a single tree or a new flower. Nothing comes from wishes alone, yet every golden wish is a seed that can travel in the winds of change, putting down roots and blossoming into hope in even the most corroded of soils.
I lifted my head to see out the window; what I saw, took my breath away. The ground below me was alive with lights, like someone had taken a handful of glitter and thrown it as far as the eye could see. It was too dark to make out individual buildings, but the lights were enough for me. I sighed, amazed at the view laid out before me.
You could only describe the aerial view of Bosilem as like badly arranged cat vomit. It was like the city planners got blindingly drunk one night and ran out with a box of chalk to plan the roads.
Chase hung out of the balloon, her eyes even wider than her mouth as she took in the aerial view. The old town was spread beneath her like a living map. The roads snaked and curved like the blue veins on her grandma's hands. From this high up it was like one organic beast, with cars for blood and houses for muscle cells. The church with it's great spire was positioned where the heart would be and the forests on the outside were like the fur. It seemed to be lacking bones or appendages somewhat but it was getting on just fine without them. From her great vantage point in the sky she saw the community in a new light, like they were all part of one enormous creature, that like in a living body, each part depended on each other part.
The houses below were getting smaller, the teeming umbrella tops blurring into the wet streets.
The aerial view was spread beneath them, a network of roads and rail sprawled below, mazes of cul-de-sacs, houses like the tiny models on an architects street plan, expanses of green, neat rectangular parks, lakes shimmering like oval face mirrors, a river winding slowly like an ethereal gift from God Himself, green clumps of woodland with raggedy edges, arteriole roads like canals of tarmac, match box cars, spires of churches with weather vanes, patchwork of farms and villages, great smoke stacks spewing silver plumes. It was Sunday, the only day of the week that the city wasn't blurred under the smog of the working week.
The aerial view of Earth is a map without boarders, greens and blues under the swirling white cloud. She has been alive for longer than humans have been without fur, her wayward monkeys that aspire to leave her for far flung worlds instead of halting the damage. Yet even now she sends them only love and prays that one day they will learn the difference between intelligence and complexity. Intelligent societies do not damage the ecosystems they depend on or fail to see their world as sacred.