The smell of taste of roses locked in the scream of softly whispering sunset - or how to write descriptions

Descriptions are the most omitted parts of any writing. No one cares how the fields look like on that one morning in July, when the sun's coming up. Or how the grass is green. If we want to see colours, we tend to look at the photographs or paintings. From the written word we require action, except perhaps poetry... But with poetry I have always had a love-hate relationship, to which I do not admit much. 

But descriptions are also necessary. They decide about the graphics of the story, give it its unique ambience. So where is the balance?

Some writers are clever enough to find it - they drop a line or two, or even the whole paragraph, telling you how the flies are buzzing around and how the air is crystal clear. I tend to skip those, too. I shall be imagining the air my way, thank you very much.

However, there are authors who keep me glued to every letter, every line, every single adjective. Like Stephen King. He makes the words smell of the taste of roses locked in the scream of softly whispering sunset.

And I believe I have worked out why. You see, it's not enough to just describe a house. Anyone can describe a house. Just read this:

"The bricks were intensely red, like setting sun. The ivy was patiently climbing the walls, juicy green, sharply contrasting with its surrounding. White frames of windows were a clean accent, neat and shiny, giving the house a look of a cared-for entity, solid, pretty, and providing appropriate shelter."

All good, right? I say: meh. It hardly cuts it, to be honest. This, on the other hand, is more my style:

"The bricks looked flawless, like someone scrubbed them with a hard brush; their deep colour brought to mind fresh blood or intense sunset, one of those unforgettable spectacles Luis used to watch while sitting on the cliffs in Portugal. Here and there the neatness of red was disturbed by the juicy-green shoots of ivy, slowly yet surely making its way up. They looked pretty now, almost Christmassy, given the sharply contrasting shades, but Luis didn't like it. Insects and dirty walls - that was essentially what it meant. Clean, square frames of windows for some reason made him think of a perfect student in a spotless uniform, with ideally ironed, snow-white collar of a shirt sticking out. The house seemed solid, tidy and reliable, but had no soul, no fun, and was not inviting to him."

To me, the real art of description is hidden in what the character is thinking. We can relate to that. We can feel it, taste it, imagine several pictures at the same time, our way, putting it together into a unique, 3D effect in our heads. Yes, please.