My Miscellany of Manuscripts

Shot 1

     As the pendulum ticks incessantly to the third out of the twelve, the accumulated heavy vapours at the zephyr atop us fell in termagancy. Its combative feel and rapidity had not a single tad of clemency. The resonance of the storm was perfectly tantamount, too. I, inter alios, had auspices of precarious falls, both liquid and solid, from the top of the sphere we're in. Squalls, in no time, executed. The half orb above, along with the twinkles, were swallowed within the sepulchral clouds. Its sombre, faceless hues and tones were despondent. The heftiness of what's poured still stirred. Copses withered in shaves of snow were all pulled from its roots by the unruly downpours and wayward gusts. Autumn leaves quavered all together in the obstinate whirls. In thirty counts of sixty, the burly blows receded eventually. Howbeit, multifaceted frigid blocks, mediocre in size but mutinous, followed next. Sleet, along with blankets of blizzard, ensued.