Petrichor Descriptive Writing

Soft moonlight lit the land and sea kindly, almost as if it were giving gentle kisses. It kissed the sea and the waves it formed, it kissed the drowsy ship which laid on said water, it kissed the sand the waves lapped at, it kissed the grassy cliff above the shore, and it kissed the girl who slept on said cliff.

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.

He awoke in the dampness of crimson amidst the hustle of the guards outside. “A white rose!” “The prophecy!” the peasant women mindlessly screamed in unison. He waited until the night’s 11th hour. By now the Princess rested in the highest tower of the castle, locked away from the dangerous world, yet so oblivious to the dangers that which fated the rest of her life. Silently the peasant journeyed outside, where he stopped at the wall of the tower where she lay. He watched her in the darkness from below, lifting his face to her, letting the light rest on his every surface of darkness. The night was cloudless. The winds wailed between the motionless oak trees as its thin branches clawed out, ever so slightly disturbing the leaves with its hostile screeches. Not the thick moss of the trees nor the damp leaves squirming in his toes could distract the peasant from so enticing a scent. All that encircled him was the sweetness of lavender and rosewood, filling his entire being as he sunk into the grass, like sand washed over by the water, with every breeze passing

The word “ integrity” seems to float around me, its very existence locked in my mind. The word integrity will never be forgotten, never be lost, but the meaning behind the word integrity has yet to be discovered. Oprah Winfrey once said “Real integrity is doing the right thing,

The night, when it happened, felt like so many others. You were with her, alone in this atrocious woods, under this oak tree. She reached out her hand and held yours, reminding you you’d never be alone. You and her sat there, backs against the moss, exchanging blissful nothings for centuries compacted in

Sweet Briar Describe a place or environment where you are perfectly content. What do you do or experience there, and why is it meaningful to you? The thundering sound of hooves echoes in my ears as my

.... I wander around the carnival the scent of corn dogs and cotton candy lingering in the air all around me. Tents and rides line the roads, colorful lights flashing from them. The laughter of children constantly echos through the air. Making the carnival feel as alive as the sun. Something hard bumps into my shoulder and I'm pushed into the grass. I look up to see panicked chocolate brown eyes looking back into mine, a blush creeps into my cheeks.

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.

“Zinny, stop.” A bitter chuckle escapes her lips. “Stop? I already have. It’s you who hasn’t.” Kent does not respond. The brisk air makes him shiver. The once treasured scent of damp leaves now makes his stomach turn. Around him, everything seems sharper, more daunting. Shadows darken. Leaves suspiciously shift. The breeze hisses like a snake. A rope of emotion snares Kent’s chest. Gasping for air, he curls up further, shutting his eyes.

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.

Water, glittering, as the sun throws sparks across the creased, sapphire expanse. Flashes of the lullaby of rising and falling waves through the trees. Golden sands shimmering from across the lake. Our soreness melted as we drove into Windhaven, the group of cabins where our family stays during the weeklong annual family reunion. We got out of the car and breathed in the fresh, lake air laced with nonchalance and the feeling and freedom of summer.

We were all scared, but I couldn't let expulsion get in my way of having the perfect summer That was the morning I noticed Rayjean absent . As we were going to breakfast I noticed a long line leading to Denaples. The sun shined bright that day, the light trying it's best to penetrate the thickness of the fog, but as hard as it tried the light just couldn’t. The red flowers shined bright thought the fog it was truly beautiful, the flower was as red as blood. Though hard to see, Dionne Green had shiny green grass neatly trimmed to the millimeter everything was great except the humidity. I looked under me, I was stepping on waxed tile stones, they looked perfect. Sebastian stared at me with a grin on his face, he motioned me to the large statue, of the man holding the cross. On his knees. I didn't know what he was thinking, then he said, " Time to climb." I immediately without hesitation agreed I gave

It’s fishy, my velvet pouch of marbles, still it looks like night, I’m used to being lured up that way. Today’s gear: gossamer thong and dead heir pumps: they plump up the shiny, motley litter, Blind, as a fat albatross, I swallow, to speak: hiccups stammer - jangle as they’re braided with my breath. My big girl panties chafe inside my smarty pants, they flip, they flap. So many marble heads cuff and swat at dead air. We’ve all seen it, the vile attempts to chaw and sup pabulum from a few stony elders and upright looker flies. The common-place ambiance of sirens and cat-callings are hushed during transit by stretched-tight drawstrings; we’re weather-beaten like the soldier rows of silver sliding doors.

The Beauty of Nature 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 a fine autumn day that Ethan promised to hang out with me. The leaves were at their brightest, oranges and reds faintly covered the ground, slightly moving in the cool, dry breeze. Light clouds scattered the sky as the sun was starting to set, ending the beautiful day. Ethan had arranged for us to meet