wintry wind - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The wind was winter’s scarf, a plain knit of wooly ice. To bare boughs, to rooftop slates, to roadways and thoroughfares same: it wrapped itself in cruel delight, not once, not twice, yet thrice. It gusted and hollered. It twisted in warped glee, stealing heat, ignoring light. Yes, the wind that day was an unholy thing, unleashed with neither manner nor wit. Rude. It was rude. And, one doesn’t forget such a happening.
Bleakest night laced itself with a frigid wind, a frigid wind threading intricate wire loops. Upon it was borne an impugning moan of curdling audacity. Cry! Cry! So it went on! Such a cruel limping immorality! As a faithful servant of winter’s seal the howl sublimated its passions, for a deft hand ‘twas it in creation of pretty snow and ice; so much delight did it bring. Yet on this most cold of days, ere nightfall was in full-flow, we fled down the cobbled street. We fled fleece-wrapped and sought sanctuary with faithful kith and kin.
Amid a wind of such deep chill that bones could snap and blood freeze still, the beach ball blew in its panicked dance. Whipped by a howling gale, deaf even to itself, all catching hands had been vanquished to firesides and Christmas hearths. And so it tumbled, on and on, its merry never-fade colours singing out. Then it wedged beneath a hut of peeling paint and shattered windows and, as if a ghostly Jeeves stood there, its door swung smoothly wide.
The bitter wind was a cadaver hand, pressing blue faces as television controls. It froze eyes of every hue, forming icy cataracts. Between handsome cascades of snow and hail, it distinguished not. Any weapon, it seemed, would do. Slew! Slew! The gale whipped each to sting at the most callous of slants. Only a fool would beg for mercy instead of seeking castle's respite.
In that softly hallowed breeze were wind sprung ears of winter wheat.
A wintry wind swept across the land with a bold honesty, a rawness that brought one's soul into the gentle cloud-filtered rays.
Through the white-capped mountains came a river of pristine air, one that carried plumes of breath clean out of sight before the next one came.
The wintry wind comes sometimes quiet, sometimes loud, yet ever with a chill that brings a crispness to the day.
Here comes the winter wind, each snowman's unseen scarf, to stir the snow, to wake the trees in a percussion of chattering.