“Dawn, ripening to the hue of a pumpkin, crept out of the night sky behind streaks of thin grey clouds ripping across the horizon like claws.”
The questions, of course, are these: Who is Dawn and why is she creeping out of the night sky? And, of equal importance, why is she ripening to the hue of a pumpkin?
These questions, and more like them, cause many writers to abandon their craft in favor of pursuing a career in septic tank installation.
No, I’m not making fun of anyone but myself. I wrote the sentence between the quotation marks, not as an opportunity to laugh but as a means of describing the onslaught of a peculiar morning. That sentence is the outcome of trying too hard to find yet another way to experience the commonplace.
