The sky spun in a tempest of its own as she attacked, moving in a swirling frenzy.

The blue sky beyond the canopy spun lazily, gravity tugging at them.

The glen and sky spun round: the hills heaved!

The sky, the ocean, the hook, the bay, spun round and round him.

The sky was spinning to meet the ground.

Outside the canopy, the sky and the tree-covered mountains were spinning around them, with the trees coming so close that he could see individual branches.

The deck and the sky spun around him until suddenly he was rolling into thin air.

Paris felt a sudden warm flush come over him, and the lemony sky spun above his head.

My head ached, the sky spun in circles and I knew that there was over a kilometer of empty space beneath my feet.

The sky was spinning in one direction, my stomach in the other.