Writing 1: Weather

The rain whips around buildings and people. It plays tug-of-war with raincoats and tickles those sheltering under the eaves. Thunder lumbers over the rooftops. Ancient oaks thrash against the storm. Lightning sends flashbulbs popping into darkened rooms, illuminating their occupants in a stop-motion dance of frightened eyes and nervous laughs and hands held imperceptibly tighter. The air cools. Chimerical umbrella-human hybrids scuttle across the flooded streets. The night roars, ensconced in its power.

Calm descends in the darkness, wrapping the ravaged city in its warm embrace. The dirt drinks the flood as exhausted branches let their weight drag them toward it. Sleeping bodies relax in their lovers' arms.

Dawn creeps into darkened alleyways. The sun rages against the night's rebellion. Stubborn puddles are beaten back. Wet heat spirals up from the grass, sprouting tentative tendrils before blossoming into a rainforest by midday. The umbrellas are sheathed, awaiting their moment to battle the deluge once more.

Night encircles the city once again, bringing another storm and another story.