blizzard - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The blizzard is more flakes than it would ever make sense to count, yet each makes its own daring path to the white dunes they build taller. One flake in the sky would be madness, yet this horizon filled with them is the greatest of sanity, our winter playground growing with each new addition.
The snow became so thick that the trees appeared as the confetti, as if they were the flakes that danced. Everywhere there was light, every crystal magnifying the rays from above, the mountain as brilliant as any camera flash.
Milo walks backwards into the blizzard, turning once in a while to check his path. He feels the half-ice pellets bounce from his winter coat and hat. He hears the song of old man winter, his calling for Earth to pause, to dream of warmth and feel the yearning for blossoms and new foliage. He sees his footprints form, as if he were going the other way and smirks, for regardless of the appearance, he's going home to Sam.
In the blizzard there was no way to know which direction to go, the usual landmarks were hidden behind the white that swirled so densely. Even Darlene's sister in front of her was little more than a crude outline of a human mostly erased by the storm. The soft crystals she would have found so bewitching from the other side of a pane glass, found their way into her jacket in every possible way. The packed down her neck and between the fabric that flapped at the front. She could feel her blood cool and her skin become icy. They shouldn't have come, not in this weather. Disorientation was a given; and the cold was a killer. She cried out for Amber to turn but the wind carried her voice faster than she could speak.The world was being erased around her, and she'd be with it if they didn't find shelter...
A swirling storm of screaming silver
Emma raised a gloved hand to shield her eyes. She had anticipated the coldness and the sting of driven snow on her face, but not the ferocity of the wind and how the light blinded her. It was like walking into a fresh page as the fibres are still being laid down, threatening to make her part of the scenery instead of a person in her own right. All she could do was to bow her head until her chin touched her chest and keep walking. Though her feet were beginning to freeze and her footsteps were small, sinking in past her ankles with each stride, she knew that each step took her closer to the warm lodge. So long as she stayed on the right path, it was only a matter of time before she had a hot chocolate and a bath of warm water for her feet.
James looked out of the window at the blizzard the weather-man had promised. If anything it was stronger. He watched his driveway disappear in the sure knowledge that he'd only have to dig it out again in the morning. When the power winked out he raised his eyes to the heavens with a sigh and went for the flashlight, feeling his way to the cupboard only to find it missing. He vaguely recalled lending it to someone, but he wasn't sure who. With a spark of relief he remembered there was still some life left in his laptop battery. From the light of the screen he could at least do some work. Already the temperature in the house had dropped so much he needed the duvet from his bed; but in the familiar glow of the screen and the clack of the keyboard, he could at least ignore the storm.
Outside rages a blizzard so strong that the familiar sight of our street has been almost erased. The flakes fall slowly and air is almost still, but it is so thick that it almost obscures the view completely. As I look upwards I feel almost as if I'm flying upward rather than watching the crystals fall, like oversized confetti, towards me. By morning it'll be a wonderland out there, the kids'll go wild with glee and I'll set out a chair for myself, nursing a coffee and baileys while they make tracks in the newly pristine world.
The blizzard removes the illusion of my eyes. With sight I am not alone, I am one of many in the world and the world is full of interesting things to see, to touch to feel, to keep my mind anchored in time and space. But as the white flakes whirl around me in an angry vortex I am as alone as I would be in the bleakness of space and cold, so cold. I reach out with gloved hand to guide my way but it is swallowed before it has gone even a few inches. To save my eyes from the blinding white I must narrow them until they are almost shut, and all the while the wind rages without end, only reducing its ferocity long enough to gather the strength for another attack. All my heart can do is beat warm blood around my veins in a hope that the storm will end, all my mind can do is plan the most logical path to warmth, safety and to something more tangible than light and snow.
There is nothing friendly about the snow outside; it falls thick enough to blind any traveller by foot or vehicle. The gale whips each flake, so pretty on its own, into a projectile that hurts unguarded skin. The sky above has none of the light that noon-time should have, so thick are the black clouds. And the sound, dear God, the sound, like one wind-chime taking the force these almost hurricane force winds. "Blizzard" hardly seems an adequate enough word for what the world outside has become.
Flakes pelt against frozen cheeks, cling to eyelashes and hair. Numbs exposed skin, pain in fingertips and toes, creates an exhausting chore to break a trail through accumulative snow drifts. Shivering, teeth begin to chatter and characters hug themselves to stay warm. Breath warms face briefly before sucked away by the cold. Dry, aching throat from thirst and cold. Wind will cut through clothing, chaps lips, forces eyes into a squint, watery eyes. Discomfort arises from snow drifting down collar of coat, into shoes and boots, and between mittens and cuffs.