I.E. Instead of "The shop was noisy." say... "Mary's Pet Store on that Saturday morning was pulsating with the shrieks of cockatoos, the yap-yap of puppies, the plaintive wails of abandoned kittens, and the delighted squeals of new pet owners.
The Nuuanu Pali overlook on the Windward side of Oahu displays the raw power of the wind. The trade winds blowing from the Pacific Ocean rumble like thunder in a heavy storm. A person has to literally yell to be heard because of the roaring air. The winds continually race across the lush green valley below and crash against the high, steep, grooved cliffs that surround the overlook. Clouds blow overhead like speeding trains. Birds flying above struggle to stay on course like falling kites because of the turbulence created by the wind. The air is damp and cold with moisture sucked from the ocean surface. The strong odor of salt in the air is laced with a hint of fresh cut grass picked up by the wind as it sweeps the valley floor. The Nuuanu Pali Overlook is a theater for the raw power of the wind.
PICCADILLY BEFORE DAWN
W. Somerset Maugham
After the stir and ceaseless traffic of the day, the silence of Piccadilly early in the morning, in the small hours, seems bearely credible. It is unnatural and rather ghostly. The great street in its emptiness has a sort of solemn broadness, descending in a majestic sweep with the assured and stately ease of a placid river. The air is pure and limpid, but resonant, so that a solitary cab suddenly sends the whole street ringing, and the emphatic trot of the horse resounds with long reverberations. Impressive by reason of their regularity, the electric lights, self-assertive and brazen, flood the surroundings with a harsh and snowy brilliance. With a kind of indifferent violence they cast their glare upon the huge silent houses, and lower down throw into distinctness the long evenness of the park railings and the nearer trees. And between, outshone, like an uneven string of discoloured gems, twinkles the yellow flicker of the gas jets. There is silence everywhere, but the houses are quiet and still, with a different silence from the rest, standing very white but for the black gaping of the many windows. In their sleep, closed and bolted, they line the pavement, helplessly as it were, disordered and undignified, having lost all significance without the busy hum of human voices and the hurrying noise of persons passing in and