The moon set. A colorless sea had drained away from the cliffs, far from the soft drifts of seaweed, highlighting a deep sliver of darkness. A bright white scrim covered the water. The sand which had been hard-edged became soft in mists, hiding its features.
Soft expanses of light glowed from the glass and concrete, and the dry edges of metal shapes in the junkyard appeared like a single creature that could not be distinguished into its parts. The silent black and rust-colored machinery came to life gradually, then formed a regular heartbeat, like marching armies in a grim parade.
The moon’s weak rays retreated away from the warehouse, pulled away from the rusting objects deep in the windowless expanses.
(From The Waves, I think.)
Rewriting a chunk of my own work in the style of Gertrude Stein
The two ravens sat on the long branch. Together they sat. It was a long branch and they sat side by side talking. They were not actual ravens, but sentient creatures, and all sentient creatures like to talk because talking is how we share our sentience. One raven was younger than the other and her name was Arkawa. Arkawa was young and a raven and sitting on a long branch talking. She was talking to another raven-like thing, a sentient creature also, who was like a raven and not like a raven and definitely not at all like a writing desk. His name was Skawkra. He was older than Arkawa and that meant he had lived longer and had more experience looking for things. His eyes were always out watching for things even while he was talking to Arkawa, that was why he spotted the eagle first.