birds in the sky - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The birds flew through that ever developing canvas of the dawn, as if their wings were fine quills, drawing such buoyant hues. Those wings in that sky became the colours of my dreams and whenever I needed a memory to lift me off the ground, they were there.
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.
The birds were silhouettes against the orange-kissed heavens. Only an hour ago they would have been pale against a blue sky, but the twilight was advancing and soon they would be lost in blackness, roosting with head tucked under wing until dawn.
They say that stressors aren't positive or negative, it's all in how you see it, in how your in-built nature responds. The flock of birds in the sky that late fall day certainly proved that way for the twins. Kyla looked up first and saw a beautiful choreographed dance, hundreds of sparkling souls swooping in the chilled air. She lit up as if she had just to reach out and the very essence of life would flood into her fragile limbs. But when Taylor turned she saw hundreds of frightening winged creatures amassing for the attack, beady eyed and sharped beaked. How she screamed! It quite shook Kyla from her trance, who took one look at her sister and burst into tears.
The sound of the birds brought her back to her childhood. Who knew that the sound of the birds in an area were so distinct? The sound comforted her as she roused herself from sleep, so happy to be back in her hometown after so many years. Later, she sat comfortably on her front porch watching the birds in the sky circling. The red-tailed hawks were out and riding the thermals above the cemetary as if in a graceful dance.
Their white bodies soared across the skies. The silver linings of the clouds were being sliced by vast, beautiful wings. Their figures stood prominent in the bright blue above, with only small pockets of clouds to hide them. They were Birds in the Sky.
When Poppa sees birds in the sky I swear he just thinks of how good they'd be in a pie. I see his eyes dart to gun cabinet, especially if they're geese in their military discipline V shape. Momma worries they'll drop their white liquid waste all over her clean laundry. By big brother doesn't even notice them, head down, mooching along, i-pod stuck in his ears. When I see birds I want to fly too, swooping, singing and playing. They're like children of the sky, free spirited, not a care in the world. I'm going to fly with them some day. I'm already saving up my money. I don't care if I live in a shack with no electricity or running water, I don't care if the roof leaks. So long as I've got my paraglider and a good truck to get up into the mountains I'm good, all good.
From time to time a flock of birds would cross the sky. Joan would sit back against her chair to watch. On occasion the lead bird would fall back and let another take on the strain of being the one at the front. Their wings beat the air as if it took no effort at all, each movement precisely on time as it should be. Inside their fragile bodies their hearts were beating, lungs expanding, muscles moving. She'd watch them until they were specks on the horizon, until that moment just before they blended into the far away sky.
From the moment the light of the new day came we knew something was amiss. The sky was full of birds and every one of them was flying toward the coast. It wasn't so much a migration as an exodus, like they'd all got a memo that us humans couldn't detect...
A blast rent the air. Every bird in a two mile radius took to the wing. The sky was full of every shape of bird, every size, soaring upward, panicked, escaping. Long before our hearts had settled, the birds came back to roost, feeling safer tucked away in the branches...
Far above, wheeling on the thermals was a bird of prey, perhaps a falcon. Rose squinted upward, her hand above her brow, but still she couldn't make out enough for an identification. She almost laughed to herself, from so high in the sky the bird itself could see the button on her shirt but she couldn't tell what species it was.
If Rose could have thrown her soul to the sky and have it transform into a bird she would have done it without a second thought. She had watched them fly over the cabin and out to sea. It was a kind of carefree freedom she wanted to taste even if it was for a short time, to break from the confines of her life, even the necessity to keep her feet soil bound.
The gulls swoop and cry without formation. They are erratic, chaotic and more noisy than the harbour traffic. They are to the sky what a milling market crowd is to the land, each one moving without reference to any other, each of them seeking the next item to swoop on.
The birds are silhouettes against the orange scene.They swiftly glide through the calm breeze showing off the variety of colours painted on their feathers.The birds swoop and do tricks in mid-air reassured that their wings would hold them fast.