A rainscape

The evening was pale. Every shred of the waning sunlight seemed to have forgotten about its kin and hung wearily in the western sky. The orange was dimmed and the reds were musky, blending with the gray tentacles of the creeping mist into a tattered shroud. This tapestry of former light enveloped the houses and settled into the street with a barely audible sigh.

The rain came down, heavy and merciless, drumming on the rooftops with all the authority of a military march; assaulting windows with a thick, lead-hued curtain of watery bullets which thundered against the shuddering glass frames like so many furious voices against an eardrum.

Out in the streets, the drowning dust of day sloshed about in desperation while a sleepy wind slithered along the lacquered concrete, mumbling into its own transparent tail. A single anaemic bulb flickered through the grumbling downpour while a steady stream of glistening torrents whispered in the yellow and brownish crowns of the trees overhead.

The houses were dark and wistful figures under a darkened, wistful sky.

(An in-class writing exercise: descriptive paragraph - weather or a location)