hot weather - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Today the sunshine is in our bones, its heat radiating outwards into the bright day. It's as if the people glow, their aura so happy on these summer days. Oscar rests in the shade, his eyes on the foliage above, on each green leaf in that vast canopy. I watch him reclined in that dappled shade, a book resting on his raised knees, his eyes following the text as if it were the soft call of a lover. Before I've quite chosen what to do, my feet have taken me under that same tree, perhaps they longed to feel the coolness of the grass around him. And as he reads, I dream and the moments stretch out into a medicinal ambiance, made all the stronger for the heat, the brilliant light and the blessing of such company.
And there she sits, Aunt May, with her feet in cool water, drinking in the radiant heat of summer. She lets her eyes close in a way that appears restful, as if inviting Rose to imagine her dreams. It is in that way, with such calmness of souls, content to dwell in the ever onwards moment, that they feel the joy of each other's company. Summer winds move the deepening foliage, creating an ever-changing mosaic of light and shade, and with it the music that is born of such gentle movement, the steady soothing lyrics of nature close by, is melody and chorus all in one.
Heat licked at their sunburned faces and coiled around their limbs like a great hot-blooded serpent. The ground smoldered and sent up a disorientating haze. Even the birds were silent and the grass stood still as if too hot to move.
In the blinding light of the August afternoon the river is like a semi-molten mirror. I can feel its coolness even before I flick it with my hand, sending droplets scattering over the surface like rain. Its depth is deceptive, mostly because it is as clear as a mountain spring. Every rounded stone on the bottom, every fish, is rendered in perfect clarity. I don't have time to wade in today, yet I'm already stripping off my sandals. The grass on the bank is sun-warmed beneath my feet and even after just one step I'm knee deep, the water flowing around my limbs, drinking away my body heat. I want to stand here all day but I'm already pushed for time and this is no weather for running or even walking fast.
Mid-June and July in Magnolia were the months of subtropical heat waves, shockingly humid afternoons and soulful melodies of cicadas. The heat would bounce off the streets, and cause an illusion of wavering images. They were one of those days when a neckerchief wasn't such a bad idea – a day when the perspiration would surface on your forehead, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, and run in rivulets down your face until you became sodden. They were one of those days when even the well turned-out dandies could not conceal the massive sweat pits on their sophisticated dress shirts. Furthermore, they were one of those days where every single bird, leaf, cloud and town inhabitant would succumb to the dastardly talons of indolence.
Heat rained down on them like the breath of hell. The scorched sand shimmered in the intense white rays of the sun.Their hats cocooned their heads in warm sweat, the arid heat burnt at their lungs. Nothing and no-one moved in this penetrating heat unless they were desperate, and they were.
The muggy heat pressed in on them, even sweating was no good. It trickled down their necks and backs like warm soup. Hair clung to their heads like thermal blankets, locking in the heat, frying their brains. The sidewalk was hot enough to fry an English breakfast. It was high noon and the sun beat down with unrestrained brutality, a few withering trees cast patches of pathetic shade onto the baked tarmac.
The flowers lie on the table, their once beautiful petals curling at the edges from the summer heat, already their stalks are limp and when I pick them up their heads fall with gravity towards the table. I inwardly curse, I should have put them in the vase the minute I got home. Soon they stand in cool water and all I can do is go about my work and hope they recover. They're my favourites too, miniature sunflowers. I can't afford them every week either, sometimes only monthly, but I refuse to buy the silk or plastic ones. I'd rather have their transitory beauty than the imitations sold in the supermarket.
In the haze of the afternoon I can feel the loose shirt start to cling to my back in places and there is a slight sting to my eyes - old mascara. I never seem to learn to throw it out before it goes rancid and I'm just too vain to leave the house without it. My sister, who got father's brown skin, looks beautiful even when sweating; her skin becomes more like polished stone. I'm white like mother right down to my blue eyes and red-tinged hair. Sweating makes me look like I need someone to dunk me in an ice bath fast, anything to put out the fire in my cheeks,
As the allotted time draws near the steady summer heat becomes far less bearable. I want the air conditioning of the mall, not the filthy downtown sidewalk. I can't sit on the burning tarmac so the best I can do is prop myself up against the lamppost, letting my eyes move over the scars in the paintwork. I run my hand over the rough paint and feel my insides squirm in a way they haven't done since the last job interview I went to. I wonder what this Joel will be like, all he said was he was going my way and he was asking for fifty percent gas money. I don't know his age, what he drives or whether he likes the kind of music that makes my ears bleed. I can feel my bangs stick to the perspiration on my face, I must be as beaded as the dawn grass. My hand begins to shake in a way I can't control, all I can do is loop my thumbs into my jean shorts pocket and hope to look casual.
The tree stands mute in the summer air. The humidity encases us both and like the boughs above me I don't move. I am sprawled on last seasons leaf litter, now soft and most of the way to becoming loam. No longer are the leaves above the delicate shade of new asparagus, they are as deep as winter kale, deeper still where they overlap. Each one is so tiny, and from down here even more so; yet together they almost obscure the sunrays that bring this unbearable heat. Even the birds are silenced, I imagine they are high in the rough limbs, statue like, breathing with open beaks. There is a fragrance here, a distinctive aroma of leaf and soil. Underneath me the ground is lumpy with roots that project though the soil and my loose cotton clothes. They twist like snakes turned to stone, writhing upward one final time before descending deep into the earth to take cool draughts from the water table below. It's all I can do to lie here sweating and breathing, dehydrating until nightfall.
The sun seemed to be trapped in the narrow streets, and even in the shadows the heat still lingered. Already sweating he burst back out on the street where he had begun.
So instead she watches her hands and the ice-cubes in her glass, which despite the air conditioning are melting almost at once.
Heat poured into their veins as if pumped in through a hypodermic needle. It swirled in their brains inducing them into sleepy stupidity and no matter how much came in, none of it seemed to escape. The air was like breathing liquid fire and no-one dared walk barefoot outside for fear of blistering. No matter how much you drank the thirst gnawed at you until sun down, when the welcome scarlets and tangerine lit up the horizon and ushered in the sweet relief of the night air.
Drinking cold water in this heat feels like the greatest luxury on earth. The ice falls against the glass, my fingers sliding on the condensation before my fingers regain their grip. I feel the chill run down my esophagus and my head makes an involuntary shake. A numbness creeps into my brain the way it did when I was a kid drinking too much slurpee too fast. It's the reverse of the winter time, when all I want is the feel the heat of good coffee come through a thick clay mug. When the glass is drained I take the ice between my molars and bite hard, feeling it melt into cold pools on my palate.
The searing heat from the sun was the only entity presence; nor even the importunate clouds that always comes when you are starting a football game was there. Its just a bright, gaudy sun stationed at the sea of blue. Plants seemed to indulge and bask mirthfully in this torrid atmosphere as they photosynthesize eagerly. As a complete fool, I wore a black t-shirt of ornate design and a pair of jeans; accepting a battle to death with mother nature despite knowing that I would indubitably lose. The black t-shirt of mine absorb and emitted more heat than I had first anticipated, which had led me to breaking sweat out of sheer contact with the searing heat. As perspiration slowly drip down from my pale face, I stick out my tongue and panted as if I was a dog; despite knowing that it would not help a tad bit. The sun's broiling ray made me felt like I was being cooked whilst alive and "kicking". Looking at my rugged arm, it turned into tan brown colour; contrasting completely with the utter white underarm that had devoid of any contact with the sun. After losing to the sun's omnipotent power, I kneeled down with my arms open wide; bellowing with great agony "Stop it Please !". Eagerly, I tore apart my shirt with full force like a piece of paper and threw it aloft into the air. To stop this brutal act of murder, I ran away with my feeble legs in search of any potential shade or dwellings. But deep down, I know the sun would not let my defeat slip away and forgotten that easily.