heavy downpour - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The rain has become a living fabric, something I can reach my hand through and let my fingers play in. It reminds me of being in a car with the window open, my hand surfing the fast moving air. I guess it's when we come closer to experiencing the world as fish do.
Water washes over my skin so strongly that it feels as if I am in the flow of a river rather than a rain shower, one that leaves me standing yet lets me know that it is here to stay for a while. And so the only thing to do is to keep walking, to accept it as easily as the air I am breathing, to see it run over the earth beneath my soft soles.
The icy grey sky restlessly grumbled. The thick blackened clouds were dragged down by the heavy rain which it held in its delicate frame. The clouds which struggled to withstand the burden of the weight which the rain held, soon gave in. The rain poured down over the city with a roar. The sound of emptiness was disrupted by the loud gregarious boom of thunder. The cold icy rain pierced her pale and wet skin. She ran across the slippery path, her posture weakened by the weight of her soaked clothes. The quality of darkness shifted in the sky but the rain kept pouring. The harsh rain obliterated the crystal reflection of the sky and turned it into an disorientated chaos.
It wasn't just rain, it was a downpour as heavy as Mac had ever seen. Walking though a waterfall couldn't get any wetter. The drops struck the already wet sidewalk, pitting the surface like they were bullets from above. There was no harm in it, Vancouver would be just the same after the storm had passed. But by then it would have washed the evidence down the storm drains. He scowled into the dark of almost noon, his mood a perfect mirror of the sky above.
Gina stepped into the rain. In seconds her furs were bedraggled and her skin wet. Instead of running for cover her mouth curved into the most delicious smile. This was providence. Her prayers were answered. Even just a few yards from the door she could be anywhere at all, the world was just blurs and the hammering quite disorientating. She turned back to the shelter of the house, not caring for water trail she left on the wooden floor. She dialled Joe, "Move the goods right now."
Thick icy sheets of rain obscured Mac's vision. His flashlight died just inches into the wall of water, reflecting off millions of raindrops, each as big as the pear drops in his pocket. They had picked a prime time to move the vials. Any trace of them would be washed right down the storm drains and the city's cameras would be as good as ice-skates in Rio. He stood with the water running freely down his face and into his already soaked clothes. The flash river that ran down the street gushed over the tops of his soft leather shoes. Only after he managed to arrange his face into an unconcerned mask for his officers and superiors did he retreat to his unmarked cruiser and head for the station. Inside his car the rain hammered onto the grey bodywork louder than a kid's drum kit, drowning out his attempt to soothe himself with Handel's Water Music. The wipers were no match for the torrent and, though he wanted to get there quickly, visibility had every sensible driver moving at a crawl.
The day had been simply dark and overcast, but in seconds it became a wall of water. The trees offered no shelter, droplets are the size of almonds smashed their way through the foliage above. Our footwear was quickly overwhelmed, water seeping in through the stitching. We were sodden. We were cold. In the tropics we would have still been warm, but this was temperate rain forest.
The rain begins to fall so thickly that there is an instant covering of water on the street, the wipers cannot keep up and visibility is reduced to under ten feet. Any depression in the road is filled and becomes a hydroplaning hazard, the breaks simply can't work if they're not in contact with the road. Traffic slows to an almost standstill.
A heavy downpour usually washes the Vancouver streets clean, but this one came with such a ferocious wind that plant debris littered every street. Water gurgled down the asphalt into already overloaded storm drains and the flora bowed to the gale. Trees and fences tumbled, insufficient to fend off the onslaught. Even inside the homes the howl and beating rain was louder than any conversation. It was as though mother nature was keen to announce the beginning of fall and only the finest drama would do.
The downpour was so heavy that to be caught unawares meant being drenched to the skin. Each drop was as large as a cartoon tear and they fell like gravity had been turned up a notch. Every person able to run picked up their pace holding futile hands skyward to fend off the worst and the world was cast into more sombre tones.
After so much summer heat the heavens broke to release a torrent of rain. The parched soil wicked it away to the distant water table below, the only puddles forming on the impervious tarmac sidewalk. It was a gift to the dehydrated flora and the animals who grieved over the dry stream beds. Tommy held his hand to the cool window pane, watching his breath condense around his outstretched fingers. Fall had arrived at last.