cloudy morning - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
On this cloudy morning there are growing patches of blue, the sort of hue that is soft and bright at the same time. Though beneath the sheet of cloud is a grey that deepens to steel, the leading edge is a brilliant white, as if it is the pages of a new book ready for any curious eye. So, on this day that could bring rain or sunshine, I'm hoping for both, for the chance of a rainbow and to feel so much more because the day is blessed with clouds.
Clouds move in the morning sky, kissed into brilliant white by the sun. They move south toward the ocean, together yet independent. Gaps widen and close, one slides right under another and always they are changing shape.
He peered out over the balcony, his eyes taking in the bright colors squeezing through clouds. It was chilly, he thought, pulling his thin cardigan around himself. The scent of rain hung in the air as he watched the sky darken and the colors fade away as morning fully arrived. Pinks, yellows, and reds disappeared first. Blue soon followed, overtaken by the grayness climbing over the mountain tops. But as the mist thickened and the unmistakable roll of thunder growled threateningly, one color hung on, rapidly fading. Orange.
It didn't take long until the husky color faded. Rain splattered the deck.
He went inside.
The dawn sun peeked through a hazy screen of clouds, painting the sky an elaborate mix of bloodied reds and vibrant oranges, intertwined with the smoky greys that permeated this skyward canvas
I woke to the gentle patter of rain on my roof and thunder rumbling from far away. I pushed the blankets off, immediately feeling the warmth of sleep begin to slip away. I swung my feet over the side of the bed and sat up, rubbing the crust from my eyes. I stood up, my bare feet pressing softly against the soft carpet, and walked towards the window.
The glass was splattered with rain drops, as even more came down. The clouds swirled lightly above my house, their pale grey color suggesting a long, mild storm. A stream of water came pouring from my neighbor's gutters, towards the soaked grass below.
Before even getting dressed, I decided that I needed to take my umbrella to work with me to-day.
Light grew steadily outside until the curtains glowed just the same as stained glass. Eddie stuck his head behind the fabric to survey what the day might bring. The road was slick with water, though the puddles remained quite still, no hint of rain still falling. Above the clouds were still grey but without the denseness of yesterday, allowing patches of blue to form.
The clouds were arranged as neatly as child's toys, scattered over blue, content to drift where they fell. The morning sun had the potential to bring a day as hot as yesterday, but those wonderful puffs of white radiated it back out into space. The air was cooler, the colours less vivid and all without a drop of rain.