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“As they strode through the meadow, she had the eerie sensation of walking atop waves. Except this was a sea of petals, not saltwater. Her toe caught on a fallen branch, and she stumbled a bit.
"Are you all right?" Colin asked.
She nodded. "I was just distracted. Wondering how much loam is in this soil."
"What?"
He set down his side of the trunk. Minerva did the same.
"You know," she said. "Loam. A mix of clay and sand. In order for he soil to support this many bluebells, it would-"
"You're standing in the middle of this," -he spread his arms wide to indicate Nature's splendor- " and you're thinking about loam in the soil? You spend far too much time staring at the ground."
Rounding the trunk, Colin plucked her off her feet. With gentle strength, he tumbled her into the bluebells. She lay flat on her back, breathless and dizzy from the sudden inversion. From the sudden nearness of him.
He lay down next to her. "There. Have a rest. Look up at the sky for a change."
Minerva stared up from the uneven ground. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, and a crushed green scent engulfed her senses. The grasses and bluebells towered over her, swaying in the gentle breeze and dripping loveliness. Above everything, the sky hovered brilliantly and blue. Nearly cloudless, save for a few wispy, changing puffs of white that were apparently too proud to mimic rabbits or dragons or sailing ships.”
― Tessa Dare, A Week to be Wicked

“The cloudless sky was gray. The trees had started to shed their leaves. A cold wind was blowing, rendering our winter layers inadequate.”
― Ekamjit Ghuman, Train to Mumbai