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.

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-duhm), 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.