The evening air carried a deep chill.

The sun sat low over the western tree line.

The eighty acres stretched out in quiet shadows.

In three weeks, the developers would bring in their heavy demolition machinery.

A silver sedan turned onto the gravel road.

Arthur was driving much too fast for the unpaved road.

The tires kicked up a thick cloud of yellow dust.

He hit a pothole without slowing down and stopped right behind my old pickup.