dusk - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The dusk comes as a promise of starlight, of those brilliant pearls of the nighttime that sit as if cushioned upon pure black velvet.
Dusk comes to bring us moonlight, to the time of reflection upon the day passed and awaiting day to be renewed by the light of the sun. It is when the birds sing goodnight until the stars bid them to dream under-wing. Each hue deepens in noble solemnity, finding unity in the night.
When the last sun-rays of the day kiss the heathland, when the greens and purples melt into grey under the moonlight, that's when the warren empties and the rabbits are out to forage and play. They move slowly, lolloping in their ungainly way, grazing as they go. At the slightest noise they're up on their hind legs, black eyes staring in more directions than we predator animals can. Sometimes I watch them for a while, just because I need to eat, it doesn't mean I don't appreciate nature. Then I take aim, one bullet, one fat rabbit for stew, job done. They scatter after that and I don't have the patience to stick around for more. Si keeps telling me to set traps instead, but I like my stake-out ritual, and to be honest, knots have never been my thing.
A movement in the shadows has me frozen; it's no more than a rustle but in this failing light my heart is on a hair-trigger. More noise comes. I take a step back and pat my pocket for my flick knife, but every one is flat. I crouch low, my lungs rapidly inflating and deflating with sweet rain-scented air. Minutes pass and what was evening is rapidly becoming the night. Without warning a young rabbit darts from the bushes, it's white under-tail bobbing furiously as it kicks a the springy ground. The rest of his earthen coat just blends into the gloom and in only seconds he is gone, likely already in the warren. I almost laugh, all that for some bunny. I stand, feeling the ache in my legs, stillness and cold are never a good combination.
As the light drains away there is barely enough even for shadows. Whether I like it or not the darkness comes and under it everything in this forest is hidden. Even the stars and moon cower behind a dense layer of cloud, giving the air that tincture I associate with the world before a storm. My ears become sharper and my mind paranoid, every snap of a twig is a predator, even if it is a fawn. For each aroma my brain jumps to the most fearsome thing it could be and my body prepares for flight, fright or freeze. For the most part I just freeze, running will give my position away and I'm not much of a fighter. All I can do is wait while the blackness comes and pray that the dawn is not far behind. So I sit on the damp ground, feeling the frigid water seep into my jeans. My heart can beat all it wants, but this body won't move until daylight breaks through the canopy above. With hands resting in the soil and my back to an oak, I remain, waiting, breathing...
The daylight had dwindled to a barely perceptible lightening of the gloom. Each wall of concrete was identical to the next without an identifying marker of any kind. Standing in what could be any part of the labyrinth, Jasper realized his folly. He had been so certain he could do better than George, that he would be in and out in half a day or less. There was no reason that left would be better than right, or ahead better than doubling back. He considered sitting until the dawn, but who knows what would come when he was made blind by the night.
Dusk comes sooner than expected, the last of the sun's rays cosseted behind soft grey cloud. The street takes on the look of an old photograph, every familiar thing a shade of grey. Slowly the view fades to blackness and the night begins. Carey retreats to the front room to the fire that roars in the hearth, pulling a blanket around her. Aside from Tom leaving his chair to stoke the flames the evening passes in amiable silence, each of them content to hear only the crackle of the fire and each other's steady breathing.
Dusk fades in so slowly that Parsa fails to notice until the path ahead of him is disappearing into darkness. It takes a stumble to rouse him from his carousel of concerns and take in the lack of colour around him.
The trees are crazy silhouettes against a newly silver sky, its blue hue almost gone until dawn. Their branches sway in the wind, creaking into the gusting air. The first sound of the nocturnal animals comes, a hoot of an owl, a rabbit taking cover in the hedgerow.
When the lake is a mirror for the full moon and the trees have hidden their bold greens, its time to move into the shadowless world. The cars still drone on the highway, a never ending stream of white and red lights, but the countryside harbours only us in sombre clothes and soft shoes.
Tara, finding momentary peace in a trance, watched the rain-drops on the window, allowing the sound to massage her mind. Time passed, enough to steal the last fragments of the daytime and welcome the night.