autumn breeze - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The autumn breeze came as a warm love note from the summer days, a lingering kiss and a promise to return.
The autumn breeze whispers as if it is a beautiful story I long to hear.
This autumnal breeze that plays in both up tempo gusts and gentle lulls, is the conductor of this New England forest, the conductor of this phoenix canopy.
Between summer-hearth and winter-sun comes the autumnal breeze.
In this time when Earth wears her most warm of home-heath hues, her breeze is as a mother's kiss to the cheeks of all.
Upon the autumn breeze is carried the aroma of the landscape, from rain quenched soils to sunlit lake, to the evergreen foliage reflects my woodland heart.
A sun warmed autumn breeze eddies in impressionist curls.
The autumn breeze speaks in warm and golden aromas to the soul.
The autumn breeze carries fine drops, each one a promise of the rain to come. As newly chilled air moves the clouds, streaks of brilliance break through from a patient sun. I let my eyes rest for a moment, feeling the ambiance of street, hearing the sounds, taking in the aroma, letting my brain be still. Then when I want to see, it's as if I just arrived here, beamed in from some other place and time, able to see clearly.
This autumn breeze has a way of moving my hair, of tousling it into buoyant curls. It carries with it the fragrance of earth, soft after the washing of the rain and a sweet and steady sense of joy. And as it dances with the canopies of flame, it alights both eyes and soul, yet more as the feeling of a mother's lullaby, a comforting delight.
Autumn breeze and scarlet leaf come together to choreograph the new season. The street in its new gaiety no long says "walk" but instead "dance with me." Nobody waltzes to work, no-one does the tango to the bus, but inside we hear the music that belongs to the autumn, the notes that strike a chord with our inner rhythms and keep us younger inside.
The autumn breeze tousled Rose's hair and pinked her cheeks. The warmth that had been in the wind just last week had either evaporated into the sky or leached into the earth. It gave life to the long grass at the side of the road, still yellowing from the high August sun. The strands swayed out of time with the gusts brought on by the traffic, a postage stamp echo of the prairie wheat fields she knew as a small child.