Written Last Term in WR 135

A Little Background:

My writing has always lacked description as showing not telling has always been something I've had trouble with. But I ready some very descriptive short stories in my English class, and now it's starting to become a little clearer to me, and a little bit easier. One major thing I learned is that the key to good description is about getting in touch with emotions and of course understanding the concepts of metaphor, personification, and hyperbole too. Currently what I write, especially in regards to my fiction, is still cliched, but I think I'm finally straying away from being overly technical and/or mechanical and finally getting a step closer to being poetic. So here's a little practice work, to make sure I'm actually succeeding in this process....

Wet Winter:

I stare out the small hole in the dull, dusty white wall, watching as rain drops cling to feather needles, weighing them down as if the burden of the dreary weather is too much to handle. Even the moss seems heavier, as it morphs into a depressing wet sponge, one that's been used too many times but has yet to be discarded.

The wind occasionally whips through the branches fast and furiously, dragging the rain down sideways, each drop lashing at the trees without their consent. It will surely be a rough walk home for many, and a blinding ride for others, but for now we're in class, blocked from the brutality of the harsh February storm. Here we can appreciate the gloom-ridden skies as they cast everything in eerie green tones so natural, yet look utterly surreal.

Once we step out the doors of this building we'll be forced to face nature; though we won't do so bravely. Instead we'll duck our heads as the wind wildly blows back our hair, the cold burning our ears and foreheads as nearly-freezing rain penetrates our eyes. Clothes will become wet and heavy, forcing us to slow to an unwanted sluggish crawl no matter how fast we'll want to seek refuge in our own homes.

We'll be too preoccupied trying to save ourselves; we won't think about those who can't get away--those who are stuck getting assaulted by the rain, stuck to live at the mercy of whatever nature may bring. We'll only know that we're desperate to seek safety in our heated homes where once inside we'll lay back and rest with relief, watching as the trees continue to hunker down, their branches flailing helplessly around. But on our couches with hot chocolate in our hands, how the storm will seem miles away....