Sentences describing weather, fog and the sun

White fog is floating everywhere on the plateau, just like a living object, spreading to the ground in its strange flow way.

The fog at dusk smells floating in the thin poplars. It seems that spun yarn hangs on the branches, but it is more conscious and transparent than spun yarn.

Clouds, like goose down, flutter gently.

A milky white cloud swept across the grass.

A mist rose over the Don River, moving along the slope of the white limestone peak and drilling into the cliff, like a gray-green snake without a head.

The vast fog enveloped the earth. It seems to be a gentle rain.

The forest is shrouded in mist and seems to be floating.

At the end of the field, smoke fills the air, just like in a dream.

The sun has just risen, and the village by the river is covered with a layer of transparent water mist, which seems to cover the village in glass.

Peaks, houses, fences and haystacks are covered with endless white veils, which are ethereal, mysterious and beautiful.

Turbulent fog, rolling here and there, rushing in the dark fields, like a spring tide of melting snow, or curling up into the sky, thin, blue and hovering, like smoke floating from a censer.

In the early morning, the air is filled with dense fog. It's a little cold and rough.

The milky fog fluttered gently like a veil. There is a hazy light in the east.

The dense fog, like a snowdrift, collapses from one mountain peak to another, and rolls down from the concave part between the two peaks like a waterfall.

When the sun rises, the fog is no longer gloomy, but red. Where blue, red and blue meet, it is sticky purple.

Everything is hidden in the dense fog, and only the top of the forest emerges above the dense fog.

There is wet fog everywhere. Sticky stains, not very clean.

White milky fog and dew are sealed up, and they are wet, cold and stagnant on the water.

The morning mist hangs in the air like thousands of white yarns to be dyed, slowly swinging and changing into strange colors in the morning light.

Heavy snow and fog. White, the sky is connected to the ground, the ground is connected to the sky, and nothing can be seen.

The ethereal and transparent self fog is woven into a huge cage of self curtains and tightly covered.

Fog seems to be ejected from the earth's crust and rises from the bottom of the valley. In mid-air, it is like a wave. One by one, it pounced on the stone forest.

Turbulent fog, like a spring tide of melting snow, curled up into the sky, like smoke from a censer.

Fog hangs on the river like a pure veil, and the boat hangs a red light at night, like an insomniac who barely opens his eyes.

On the top of the mountain, there is a flowing, gauze-like, weak airflow, whether it is clouds, smoke or fog.

A thin layer of milky white airflow rippled gently on the ears of wheat like yarn.

Gray mist permeates the earth, as if hiding the mystery of nature's change.

A mass of gray fog on the top of the mountain shines like a brilliant crown in the afterglow of the sunset.

The river in the distance, in the misty fog, rippled with light blue.

Fog is like a naughty elf, performing magic and waving the dreamy veil to confuse people.

The fog of Lushan Mountain. Sometimes it's like a wisp of smoke. Sometimes, it is like waves, sometimes it is as light as a feather, and sometimes it is as heavy as lead ash.

The thick fog lifted its broad white robe and covered a mountain.

The last wave of warm fog dispersed from time to time, and the table felt very flat.

The foggy sea is vast, the mountains are like floating islands, and the sun is like a beacon light in the foggy sea.

The vast fog is like smoke and water, covering the mountains and rocks tightly. Like a bride's headscarf

Silent morning mist, can't open. I can't break it. All the scenery is confusing, as if it were true or false.

There is a wisp of gauze-like fog in a remote village in the plain, but it is transparent, like wandering mercury.

The night fog slowly faded and turned white, like a flowing transparent body.