nighttime - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Nighttime was the best time. It was when the scorching heat surrendered to the onshore breeze and we could be outside without need to cover every inch of our skin. The stars would come as if to welcome us back to these hours of comfort and relaxation. We would sit, our heads tilted toward the sky, observing the constellations and the patina of the moon. Our chatter went on until the small hours, always with a backdrop of crickets in the long grass.
Nighttime falls like a film noir curtain, bringing spies from the shadows and the dames that shun the sunlight hours. From every doorway curls cigarette smoke, arcing lazily into the black, and from the basement bars comes loose saxophone jazz. This isn't a city of starlight or moonbeams, it is cracking tarmac under storm-cloud and thick air drenched with the promise of rain.
Nighttime twists back around again, children are tucked in, gangsters walk. Darkness brings the primal nature to the fore, a heady trance for these men who crave dominance and power. They stalk among the thrill seekers, the party goers, faces set to a underscored snarl. After sunset each person is either a player or a nobody. The sensible pray to stay without a name, because once a person gets one it's only a matter of time before it's called.
The nighttime in that place belonged to the owls and coyotes. With only the starlight and waxing moon for light, the blackness was almost complete. The woods were a tangle of roots on which to trip, a maze of paths to become lost within; even with torch light it was a journey only made under greatest need. And so in the wintry evenings the family passed many wakeful hours together, none sleepy enough to turn in for hours to come. Each one passed in uneventful enjoyment until there came a heaving knocking at the door...
Nighttime stretched ahead as long as the road they had travelled in the daylight hours, now charcoal hued and cold. The birds were silenced, no-one walked the streets, the only serenade being the ever present rumble from the tanks that crumbled the highway to dark and dusty fragments. The runaways knew they should be travelling in the black hours, but fear kept them the behind brick and mortar of the abandoned shells that were once homes.
Some nights, I wished I lived in the country. Living in the city meant more people were out and about at night, cars drove around with their headlights on, businesses lit their fluorescent signs, I couldn't take it. I wanted to see the dark blanket we called the sky littered with twinkling stars. I wanted shooting stars to be a normal thing. The beauty of the night sky is always masked by the artificial lights and airplanes soaring across. For just one night, all I wanna see is the moon and a sky full of stars.
Outside the window, tiny hand cut snow kisses fell from the stars. Each was so delicate and unique, but if you were to touch them, they’d cease to exist. Above us all, blanketed the blackest of black night skies… So pure and cold, death couldn't cause it any harm. Embedded into it, twinkled pure crystalline stars, like someone had gone and planted each and every diamond so we could all just admire their stunning natural beauty.
The long shadows of the evening dissolved into the gathering darkness of the nighttime. The air cooled and the crickets sang.