boats - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The boats to the sea as a flock takes to the sky, in happy close formation.
The boats glided from the harbour into the bonny sea waters as if they had spent the starlit hours dreaming of little else.
The boats had a way of catching the sunlight every bit as much as the wind.
Every boat on the ocean was as bright as the riot of new flowers adorning the hillside. They were so pretty that when the fleet set out to the rising sun we watched every bit as bewitched as a groom at the alter. As they bobbed onward to the fishing grounds, we sent out our prayer for safe return and only then did the day begin.
With sails that billowed in the autumnal wind, the boats sailed by. Each one was a white flag against the blue, as clean as the clouds above. Their hulls were all shades of fire, from burnt orange to crimson, and they broke the waves with a bobbing motion, white water cresting at the bows.
The boats had sat there for time out of mind, listing and rusting. The hulls let in the water and the fish that swam in the broad estuary. Cory threw a pebble just to hear it clang before plopping into the water before turning and heading for home.
The boats were scattered over the harbour like fall leaves in a pond. The colours were beautiful, random, bringing forth echoing memories from Emile's childhood spent on the shore. He rocked back on his worn heels, hands deep in his jeans as he cast weary eyes into the wintry onshore breeze. The boats bobbed on the waves, turning a little as they did in their chaotic dance. The fishermen were home long ago, as should he be; but he wasn't ready to cast this scene to memory just yet. He wanted it to be his present for a while longer, to fill his senses. The cold air brought salt to his lips, the cry of the gulls that wheeled overhead in their lazy arcs filled his ears and the pebbles shifted underfoot. No music could be finer for Emile, the symphony of colour, taste and sound could not be replicated on a CD or in a photograph. He would only move from the spot once the daylight robbed him of the scene, stealing the colours and replacing them only with charcoal.