storm - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Condensing water in leisure drips as stormy arrows strike my pane; and all the while I hear the howl that bays for me to stay within, to ignore those at whim of such malicious archers.
Storms came to quench the earth that communed with the beech tree roots, the soil that held blessed water until it could be given to its sweet leaves, each of them shaped as a raindrop heaven-bound.
The clouds that gather, a silver-fade, from the strongest of grey to soft whites, have command of the skies today. Yet what they promise is life-giving rain for the parched soil and a chance for new seeds to grow.
After every storm comes the sort of sunshine that goes all the way to the soul, the sort that makes one glow a little brighter within. This storm was just the same, the strong gusts and the kind of rain that danced in the streets, yet after it was so glorious, it brought the most honest of smiles.
The storm left everything strong standing, the upward branches and the roofs that kept us dry. It came to wash everything anew and show us what was rotten, where repairs and nurturing work were needed. It was the boldest storm anyone can recall, the rain determined in a wind that moved as a well run locomotive. We can all pray for the fine weather, but it takes the best of us to welcome the storm and show others how to thrive once it passes.
The silver hues were as molten silver, swirling in steady and radiating ripples. I love the sky before a storm; I love the greys of every shade and depth. I could swim in the atmosphere so subtly electric, alive with an excitement for what is to come.
Mist the target in thickest fog, rock the branches in howling storm and yet my arrow stays true to heart, for I am the huntress of legend. I bring the end to days of ledger, an end to owing and owed, an end to to bowing and bowed. I send word from the world beyond, I deliver the letter that brings real truth, that which renders equality both easy and obvious to all. And when the parchment touches skin, when it is absorbed into the blood, when the vision clears, you will see as I do, for there is no mist for me; neither is there wind, for this miss there is but victory.
The Compass and Clock Storm
Bubbles rise to storm pellet's pound,
All around the swamp festers,
Be it slurry ankle deep,
Be it the foulness of rotting fish,
Be it the howl that steels the merest hint of heat,
Climb to the mountain peak,
Enter the calm,
Let the clouds be your rolling fields,
For this rage of skies,
Stretches around compass and clock.