Trying something out with an older YA story.
The chill wind roared through the night, hurling scraps of paper and empty cans along the narrow pavements and into the road. The crumbling buildings which lined both sides of the streets were turned black-grey in the night and not a single one showed signs of life.
Usually, I'd have had the collar of my suit jacket turned up for warmth, but tonight I was grateful for the cool air.
Something about this isn't cohesive for me. Maybe these are loose associations, but I think of a chill wind as a more subtle thing than a roaring wind. I'm similarly unsure of how I feel about hurling as an action performed by wind, since hurling to me associates some physicality with the throw.
Second sentence lacks specificity: what does it mean that the buildings are crumbling? I can't picture what you want me to see. Are they boarded up? Have the bricks fallen from their faces? Are the outer walls ripped off? Are the interiors gutted? Are the buildings made of clay, and are they simply sinking into the ground? If the wind is blowing so intensely, are bits of building flying off?
This placeless feeling is exacerbated by the fact that the description extends to every building all the way down the street.
Lastly, the jacket collar: I'm imagining a vicious wind, not a pleasant chill. Maybe it's just the New Englander in me, but when cans are flying through the air, I like to keep my collar up and my head down.
The sea breeze swept inland, drawn inexorably by the hot air rising over the vast desert to the northeast. Amidst the billowing rushes that filled the vast salt marsh, a dragonfly clung, motionless. The winds swirled the tawny leaves and thrashed the heavy seed heads where bright blue and rose tulia finches clung, chattering and feasting on the ripening grains.
Not much to add to this one that hasn't been said already, but I'll raise a few questions that I've been wrestling with in my own writing: who's telling the story, and to whom? Why this story? Why this starting point and why this conclusion? If someone had to read this aloud to a crowded room, who would read it and who would be in the room and what would hold their attention? Why would you want those people to listen?
Any of your choices might be correct, but I do wonder if these images, while they do establish a mood and a diction, serve your story goals, whatever those are.
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Here's what I'm working on lately:
I should probably say up front that I’m an atheist. I haven’t believed in you for a long time; I’ve just pretended. My parents made that easy for me.