Sleep
Sleep (sleep), v or n :
An elusive tug on the corner of the mind. A slow warmth that creeps into the bones by way of fingers and toes. The goal of heavy quilts, soft blankets, hot cocoa. A child’s companion during a bedtime story; the soothing hum beneath low voices and murmured sounds. The gradual closing of the world to the eyes; the vision going all to glowing pink, and then to black. The slowing of the mind and hand. A film of cotton over the harsh, bold lines of the wakeful day. A slow gray mist that clouds the senses; alternatively, a heavy black weight that traps and smothers its victims. The passing of time and consciousness from the mind. The fog-dark stage for the colored lights of dreams; at other times, the shaded realm stalking fears and nightmares. Sweet relief from reality; a natural reset of perspective. The quiet faith that one will wake tomorrow.
Rain
Rain (reyn), n:
A soft drumming on window-panes. The roar of impending storm and breaking flood. Sparkling diamonds suspended in air, beautiful in fleeting sun. The gray mist around a lamp post; the smear of neon lights on wet pavement. An intimate, warm touch against the skin late at night. The soothing background noise to a comfortable bed; by turns, the fierce rage of close-by thunder and lightning. The tears of God and angels over the dry and chaotic world. A gray day full of wet umbrellas and too-hot rubber coats. Lonely puddles, strangely melancholy in the aftermath of clouds. The gift of life to dark, thirsty soil. The setting for sad goodbyes and star-crossed kisses. A stifling deluge from the sky. The context of a rainbow. The cleansing of creation’s sorrow; the baptism of the world, re-birthed in soft, damp shades of green and brown and gray.
Green
Green: (grēne), adj:
Rolling pastures and lush imagry. A deep secluded pool, dappled with sun and shadow. The bright scent of freshly mowed summer; a garden, cool and elegant, with roses peeking out. A perfect leaf, glossy and smooth, dotted with globes of morning dew. Dark moss, vibrant and alive against the old gray of a dead tombstone. Venerated ivy; a gradual climb up walls made of sun-warmed stone and knowledge. The iris of an eye, reflecting in the sun to shades of brown, blue, grey. A forest tinted almost blue in the twilight of a cold fall day. The texture of a crisp dollar bill; in turn, the filth of over-used currency. A visible sign of decay and mold, both in the world and the spirit. Shade of envy, greed, witches. Naturally complimenting to the heavens and symbiotic to the earth. Varied in its uses by God and man; above all, inevitably sincere.
Stargazing
Stargazing (stahr-geyz-ing) v:
A dark only achieved by isolation. A light that skips the eye to touch the mind. Silver infinity tacked in pieces onto black velvet; ripples frozen in the depths of space. An understanding of one’s smallness in the universe; the perspective of a grain of sand on a beach, or a drop in the sea. A vastness that escapes the limit of the consciousness; a pinhead’s area view of eternity. A peace that by its very nature passes understanding. An acceptance that one is not the revolving center of the universe. An increasing embrace of natural dark; by turns, a loathing of man-made luminescence. A thirst for real perspective; a quietude that bends itself to truth. An intimacy between one’s self and the Creator of the universe. A depth of life that can only be imperfectly imitated in the light of day. A wish for every hope and dream suddenly seen as reasonable.
Boredom
This was my first attempt at a new writing game I started playing with myself this summer, in which I picked a random word and took one notebook page to define it, mostly with random metaphors and mental pictures.
Boredom (bawr-duh
m), n:
A heavy silence; molasses on the soul that makes life move slower, crawl, stop. A dull tingle of muted action; motivation and energy dulled into a weary slumber, pin-pricking on the mind at the climax of an unknown dream. A distant sunset, glory gone, color faded to a languid twilight. A stupor of the spirit. A circling of the mind; a reliving of the folds and creases of history with no context other than the pointless present. A lack of luster; a state of lucidity that is only achieved by living in the agonizingly slow moment of the breath, the heartbeat. A disillusionment of life’s enjoyments; a detachment from the vibrancy of meaningful existence. A helplessness born of continual waiting; a state of being without hope, destination, company, or vision. A tint upon the mind that turns the world to gray, unmoving mud.
