Atmosphäre beschreiben

Zitat:
Ray Bradbury, The Pedestrian

To enter out into that silence that was the
city at eight o`clock of a misty evening in November,
to put your feet upon that buckling concrete walk, to
step over grassy seams and make your way, hands in
pockets, through the silences, that was what Mr.
Leonard Mead most dearly loved to do[---]
made no difference; he was alone in this world of
A.D.

2053, or as good as alone, and with a final
decision made, a path selected, he would stride off,
sending patterns of frosty air before him like the
smoke of a cigar.
[---]he would see the cottages and homes with
their dark windows, and it was not unequal to
walking through a graveyard where only the faintest
glimmers of firefly light appeared in flickers behind
the windows. Sudden gray phantoms seemed to
manifest upon inner room walls where a curtain was
still undrawn against the night, or there were
whisperings and murmurs where a window in a tomblike
building was still open.
[---], and whistled a cold quiet whistle between his teeth, occasionally picking
up a leaf as he passed, examining its skeletal pattern in the infrequent lamplights as he went on, smelling
its rusty smell.
[---]The street was silent and long and empty,
with only his shadow moving like the shadow of a
hawk in midcountry. If he closed his eyes and stood
very still, frozen, he could imagine himself upon the
center of a plain, a wintry, windless Arizona desert
with no house in a thousand miles, and only dry river
beds, the streets, for company.