The fiery mid-March sun a moment hung
          Above the bleak Judean wilderness;
          Then darkness swept upon us, and ’t was night. 
                    “Easter-Eve at Kerak-Moab.”—­Clinton Scollard.

The quick-coming winter twilight was already at hand.  Snow was again falling, sifting delicately down, incidentally as it were. 
                    “Felicia.”  Fanny N. D. Murfree.

Merciful heavens!  The whole west, from right to left, blazes up with a fierce light, and next instant the earth reels and quivers with the awful shock of ten thousand batteries of artillery.  It is the signal for the Fury to spring—­for a thousand demons to scream and shriek—­for innumerable serpents of fire to writhe and light up the blackness.

Now the rain falls—­now the wind is let loose with a terrible shriek—­now the lightning is so constant that the eyes burn, and the thunder-claps merge into an awful roar, as did the 800 cannon at Gettysburg.  Crash!  Crash!  Crash!  It is the cottonwood trees falling to earth.  Shriek!  Shriek!  Shriek!  It is the Demon racing along the plain and uprooting even the blades of grass.  Shock!  Shock!  Shock!  It is the Fury flinging his fiery bolts into the bosom of the earth.—­
                    “The Demon and the Fury.”  M. Quad.

Away up the gorge all diurnal fancies trooped into the wide liberties of endless luminous vistas of azure sunlit mountains beneath the shining azure heavens.  The sky, looking down in deep blue placidities, only here and there smote the water to azure emulations of its tint.—­
                    “In the Stranger’s Country.”  Charles Egbert Craddock.

There was every indication of a dust-storm, though the sun still shone brilliantly.  The hot wind had become wild and rampant.  It was whipping up the sandy coating of the plain in every direction.  High in the air were seen whirling spires and cones of sand—­a curious effect against the deep-blue sky.  Below, puffs of sand were breaking out of the plain in every direction, as though the plain were alive with invisible horsemen.  These sandy cloudlets were instantly dissipated by the wind; it was the larger clouds that were lifted whole into the air, and the larger clouds of sand were becoming more and more the rule.

Alfred’s eye, quickly scanning the horizon, descried the roof of the boundary-rider’s hut still gleaming in the sunlight.  He remembered the hut well.  It could not be farther than four miles, if as much as that, from this point of the track.  He also knew these dust-storms of old; Bindarra was notorious for them:  Without thinking twice, Alfred put spurs to his horse and headed for the hut.  Before he had ridden half the distance the detached clouds of sand banded together in one dense whirlwind, and it was only owing to his horse’s instinct that he did not ride wide of the hut altogether; for during the last half-mile he never saw the hut, until its outline loomed suddenly over his horse’s ears; and by then the sun was invisible.—­
                    “A Bride from the Bush.”