festival - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
We humans make our festivals, so whatever you want to change to suit your ethical standards and dreams of a healthy Earth, just change it. It's your culture too and culture is a living thing, able to breathe and grow.
The festival was always a place of unrestrained joy. The costumes lit up the summer's day, a riot of colour to rival any gardener's paradise. Music filled the air, festive beats lifted the spirits and made the people want to move, jump and sing. It was a time to celebrate being alive, celebrate the wonders of creation and be one with the community. The air tasted so heavenly with the chefs alongside the parade, every delicious thing ready to be shared with friends.
It was the festival of lights. Along the usually dark wintry lane shone hundreds of lamps; illuminating with their flickering candles. The light was cast every colour by the tinted panes and Tina couldn't help but be reminded of candy. It was as if the lane was iced by the baker on the high-street, and even better than the cake she had last birthday. Everywhere there were folks in their winter garb, thick woollen jackets, mitts and scarfs. To add to the gaiety most children carried a lamp of their own making, their gentle puffs of steaming breath made visible by the glow, only to disappear into the inkiness. At the stroke of eight on the old town clock would come the first wave of songs, songs of thanks to echo into the homes of even the curmudgeons. Tonight the windows of the hospital would be open despite the cold, the doctors believed the multitude of voices from young and old alike to have a stronger effect on their patients than any medicine they had to offer.
Lily loved the festival better than her own birthday. In the month leading up to it her life was a frenetic whirl of practicing on her stilts and preparing the long flowing costumes. There were six of them in total and they would weave through the crowds, nobody taller than their chests. Children would reach up to hold their hands and their smiles shone through their elaborate face paints. They were butterflies, frogs, nymphs and woodland sprites; for this was the festival to welcome in the spring. The music floated on the warm breeze like the spring blossom petals; raining down from the cherry trees.
The costumes were as colourful as a summer garden. Bold yellows, magenta, cyan and emerald green, There were sequins sparkling in the brilliant afternoon sun and feathers of every colour. Wherever you looked there were painted faces and masks, The stilt walkers marched down the middle of the crowd blowing bubbles or waving as they went, The latin music was the heartbeat of the crowd and they swayed long limbs in time to the beat. Food sellers weaved through the mass of onlookers and the aroma of their wares perfumed the air. The parade danced it's way down the street that usually was jammed with cars at this time of day,
The festival was always something of a street party, an excuse for the whole neighborhood to let their hair down and be silly.Everywhere you looked the painted faces of children and adults grinned back at you. In the center of the street were performers of every type. There were jugglers and magicians, mime artists and dancers. We'd tip some change into each collecting hat and move on to the next.
The festival was feathers and sparkles, smiles and laughter. It was every outrageous thing and it brought such life to our souls. It was the grand party of the year, the one everyone was invited to. The girls and boys wore whatever garish costumes they could dream up: fantastical creatures, faeries, angels or super heroes. Almost no-one walked anywhere, they danced, skipped, jogged, jumped, hopped and wiggled. It was the day when extraordinary was the norm and just being alive was a riot.
The air smells like the festival already and my fingers are electric. My mind is buzzing, my limbs so charged up that walking just isn't an option. Every normal thought and worry is banished, there is simply no room for it with all the excitement in my mind. I breathe in deep. This day is my vacation from reality, the day when fantastical creatures bless the streets with their beaming smiles and silly feathers.
With the singing of an electric guitar the festival is open and the beer starts flowing. The good ol' boys are hanging in the shade and girls are off for the cream tea parlour and manicures. Of course some of the boys want the cream teas and there are lasses in the beer tent, but that just adds to the gaiety of the day. Festivals aren't time for rules but inclusion, they are time to celebrate our diversity, our similarities, and relax.