Descriptive Essay On A September Night

Months ago when he first stepped outside, the bright rays of light almost blinded him. He raised a pale hand to his face in a petty attempt to shield himself. Now under the dying sun, he could see the city in its entirety. When the surrounding area grew darker, red and orange lights that brushed over the streets began to grow in intensity. Walkers on the sidewalk began to flourish in their own happiness as they hurried from their jobs and into the weekend.

Darkness surrounds the evening sky. The stars were peeking out from their dark home. It looked as if God took a straight pin, poked a sheet of paper with tiny holes. Crickets softly played their symphony as the world slept. James laid in his bunk, staring off into the darkness. He wondered what the day had in store for him. The night watchman quietly walked his route, like a thief in the night.

Grass tickles my bare feet, and the sultry night air caresses my skin as I stand facing the forest. With the moon full and glistening over the dew covered greenery, I am enraptured. The gentle breeze wraps around me like a lovers embrace and I am lost to my surroundings. The nights are beginning to cool with the new season and are a welcomed relief to the waning summer heat.

The lake darkens as the ominous clouds race across the sky, as black as the devil’s soul, and swallows the bliss-blue complexion of the sky faster than you can blink. The world has abruptly become cellar-dark and the heavens above look to collapse down upon me. A deafening wind runs over the landscape like a thousand horses, the noise of the raindrops their clattering hoofs. The threatening force of the gales knocks and blows the trees in precarious ways, almost as though, if it had wanted to, the wind could blow them away as if they were but feathers, not heavy pines. Lighting lights up the sky like liquid, golden ore streaks being forged into forks up above. Wriggling and writhing with the pain of their own existence. Flashing once, twice, three times, polished and glossy like the cold prongs of the apocalypse. Shaking myself from my weather-caused trance, I hurry for shelter under a nearby fern tree. Staring deep into the blackness of the storm I wonder whether I will ever see that bliss-blue appearance

New York lights shine high in the sky being contrasted by the darkness of the ground in front of us. Stars sparkle in the night sky, with the lights dancing around us. Take you out for the night on the town, but never bring you back the same way. Your eyes hinted with happiness. Your darkness slowly disappearing.

A single beam of light shone thru the curtain. The specs of dust in the room danced between the rays, whisked into the air by the pleasant breeze tip toeing thru the screen door. I could feel the warmth on my cheek as I rose from the sheets, thoroughly rested. I briskly got ready, slipping on my tennis shoes, old and worn. Stepping outside, I was greeted by the painfully sweet aroma of sweet pea flowers, entranced by the blissful gleams of sunlight, and spellbound by the familiar screeching of parrots, flocking in clouds of bright vermilion.

Strutting through the familiar, gate worn by time, I spread my arms, taking in the saccharine aroma of the fresh grass. The remaining glimmers of the sun glisten on every blade that peeks through the moist soil, composing a sea of sparkling beauty, only comparable to a poem. The meadow is breathtaking this evening, as the sun sets behind the trees in the distance, leaving a glow of pinks, peaches, ambers, and crimsons behind as if a bowl of fruit had exploded in the sky.

After reaching the outside edges of this musical arena, the true penetration of excitement occurs. An enormous steel plate decorated with a brilliant brass halo hangs on a slim, silver frame circumscribing the magnificent steel plate. A trapezoid of thin aluminum tiles placed in two meticulous rows across a thick ebony base rests gently, waiting for a majestic and seemingly undiscovered musician to compose amazing melodic tunes of grace and peace on its brittle keys. Sturdy skins of beastly predators stretch taut across their compressed wooden shell identical to a native American replication of a warrior’s cry as he marches his tribe into battle. Trailing in the forgotten distance perches a somber tower of drab coffers stacked with immense

A purple dusk splashing over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgandy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries. When the sun set, no candle replaced it. Only the lustrous spark in glossy eyes to spare. Under the willow trees, the leaves lay deep and so crisp that a lizard made a great skittering if he ran among them. Elegantly, the innumerable flashing fragments lay shining in midst of the church. Ahead, the path vivaciously glistening like white quartz, yet raindrops on the weary concrete was all it was.

A garish yellow glow spat from the overhead lamp, letting shadows dance in the darkened corners of the room. From the fuzzy edges, they scuttled. Tiny haired legs and round ink-blobs slid down the walls, like bows gliding over the strings of a maple violin. Trailing behind them were glistening silver paths, shimmering in what limited brightness there was

Through the erudite interpretations of the quartet, we are able to experience a different culture and apprehend its sounds. It’s almost as if we were physically visiting another world. Once there, we can’t escape the dazzle caused by exotic scents and the sight of stunning landscapes. Atmosphéres will reward those who don’t give up at the first

A slow red sphere, pulsating with light and energy, rose across the hazy horizon; feeding the once dark and bleak island with colours, sound, and life. It was like an artist’s canvass slowly coming to life, as splashed the surface with colours and hues, and carefully put together his masterpiece. The island suddenly lit up as if someone had suddenly twisted the brightness knob on a television set, and flicked on the volume. The dark and mysterious trees and plants suddenly lit up with radiant joy, and I saw the finer detail of my surroundings in the brightness of the morning sun. As I got up I saw a multitude of ants scurrying about on the dark gnarled root, I gazed deeper into the ants world, staring in fascination at the various dark

The sun was still below the horizon but the clouds above the mountains were tainted the color of pomegranates. Around me the shadows seemed empty. I tried not to look into the brush as I walked down the driveway. I had stopped before, looking to see the back of the shadows; staring hard, only to have them retreat from my eyes indefinitely. Invisible birds called from within. Their sound followed me down the driveway and onto the road.

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.

It was three o’clock in the morning. Outside the window, the sky was still dark. There were barely any stars in the sky, and no cloud cluttered. The sky was painfully dark and motionless. Except for the faint light from the moon, everything seems lifeless. In a dark room, there was a girl sitting up on the bed, leaning on the wall beside her. She was looking out the window. Through the window, the girl can see the sky and the top of some buildings, however, nothing special or attractive. But, the girl has been staring at it for almost an hour now, silently and peacefully.