curtains - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The curtains add an orange glow to the morning light, every morning a perfect sunrise. It reminds Haydon of of the times he slept in a beach hut, watching the ocean emerge under the golden shimmer. For a moment his mind conjures the rhythmic waves, soft on the sandy shore and feels his heart beat to the same slow pace. He breaths in deeply. A new day has begun. He reaches his had out to the fabric, noticing how up close the light pours through every open space between fibres, no different from how it once came through the beach-hut walls, illuminating like brilliant fire-flies each dawn. The material is warm beneath his fingers, and when the sun floods the room, painting the colours anew, he feels a little of those golden rays soak into his skin.
The curtains remind me of Flora's wedding dress, the way it hung so delicately from her neat frame. I guess it helps that the fabric is ivory with a touch of lace at the edges. The sunlight streams through the gap bringing the hope of a new day. Though the window is closed I can smell the roses just outside. A smile spreads over my face. It isn't the fragrance of those blooms I detect, but rose perfume on the drapes. How like Flora it is to bring something of nature into her home.
The curtains are only opaque because of the grime. Fabric that thin should be letting the light pass as if it isn't even there but instead they cast a murky shadow over the room.
The curtains were a thick red velvet that hung in generous folds around the mullioned windows and were lined with thick cotton of deepest plum. When they were closed the room was instantly cast into blackness, even on the brightest of days. In winter they stood guard against the biting cold, making even the deepest of winter nights cosy and warm.
Lavender curtains, fringed with lace, billowed in the refreshing spring breeze. They framed the window perfectly, making the picturesque scene before her ethereal. Delicate pansies, prim and proper tulips, cheery daffodils, and clusters of maroon poppies freckled the scenic meadow. A dome of brilliant azure, speckled with fluffy clouds, covered the land. All of it framed in a lovely, tasteful purple.
The curtains were undoubtedly fashionable a few decades ago, but now the garish floral pattern was only rivalled in it's revoltingness by the thinness of the curtains that let the morning light pour through them as easily as if they were not there at all.
The curtains hung in dusty uneven folds, half hanging off the rail in places and only an inch longer than the window itself. They were mean curtains, barely big enough and as thin as a summer smock.
The white linen curtains stretched right to the floor and billowed as the breeze came in through the open window.
Draped over the window, a pair of purple lined curtains. Stretching their full length, they slowly sway and caress the floor.