Good Descriptive Writing ~ from The Infinities by John Banville

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• He sees it in raw April weather, a rinsed blue sky with smudges of cloud, ice-white, bruise-grey, fawn.

• Spring winds flow through the streets like weightless water.  The blued air of April.  The trees tremble, their wet black branches powdered with puffs of green.  A strong gust pummels the window-panes, making them shiver and throw off lances of light.

• Reclining on a strew of pillows in the morning's plum-blue twilight.

• Through gaps in the hedge he catches glimpses of gorse bushes yellowy aflame on the low hillsides, and in the hollows there are lingering blurs of morning mist.

• I am admiring the gorse blossom:  it is truly glorious, a froth of buttery gold over the hillsides and along the hedgerows.

• She recalls the dampish light, the smells of moss and musty water, the sunlight a spiked glare of white gold and a swarm of tiny, translucent flies busily weaving an invisible design above the water of the well.

• Outside, the air has turned to the colour of inky water.

• It's long past noon and a hazy stillness has settled over the fields.  The trees stand seething in the heat.  The air is grey-blue and lax.  Everything shimmers.

• From the shaded within, all that is without the high awning of glass, the trees, the sunlight, that broad strip of cerulean  sky seems a raucous carnival.

• When Adam cuts into the chicken a sigh of steam escapes from the moist aperture between singed skin and moistly creamy flesh.