Somewhere beyond Volumes and between the Lines of Blurry, was a town where it rained words. It fell as such because the people there couldn't live without the poetic flow of prose. 

When the air was sticky and the clouds were low, the nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs would pour into the world (and sometimes the storm was so fierce that conjunctions and articles came pummeling down the gutters too!). The words would seep into the ground where the trees and flowers eagerly slurped the words and they bloomed their own stories.

Thunder boomed with onomatopoeia and lightning flashed across the sky like a dashing smile. The rain would pound down and beat across the town in iambic pentameter. During the hard, heavy spring storms, the beat slammed like poetry and syllables thumped like haikus.

Some people would carry umbrellas and groan when inky clouds billowed in, but they were usually the adults with too many words rattling around in their head anyway. The children--young and impressionable--would jump into personified puddles and decorate their clothes with a spattering of sentences. Word play tripped over the tongues of their shoes.

After a good rain--when the world sighed heavily with imagery--children could be found with nets, skipping over the stones by the creek, waiting to catch the poets who gulped down the punctuation floating across the air and licking away the glistening adjectives that pooled in crevices of the rocks.

Once in a while you'd catch an adult at the bus stop, as the sun began to melt through the clouds, mouthing the words the raindrops formed on park benches. And the sunshine, not always the enemy, would dry out the raindrops--or shall we call them worddrops?--leaving the slightest hint of what once was. An acrostic memory would flutter past the adult then, reminding them of the days when sonnets were king, and purposely step in a nearby puddle, leaving a trail of alliteration; a bookmark in their childhood.

NOTE: This entry is part of my "Personification Series" where I personify the days of the week into people.

The sun is bright, but it neglects to warm the world too fiercely. The world is lush and green as we sit together on the glider swing, rocking in the breeze. We enjoyed watching the world from our front porch nowadays.

"Remember childhood?" I asked nostalgically as we watched the neighbor's boy from our porch.

We laugh to ourselves as the young boy breaks into a fit of giggles, running through the sprinkler in his fire engine red swimming trunks with a seahorse inner tube snug around his hips. His wet hair falls flat on his forehead as he shrieks with delight when the water catches him and he runs across the yard.

I smile, remembering how charming the world was at that age; how free we used to be.

The library comforted her most of the time... but sometimes it frustrated her.

Out of the two of them, she was the good girl, always the responsible one; the level headed one. She sat in the library studying for her exams while her twin sister went to the beach with friends, undoubtedly playing volleyball, grilling hot dogs, and getting a deeper tan.

She powered down her phone after getting a fun-in-the-sun text message from her sister. Sighing at her sibling's irresponsibility, she bit back a twinge of jealousy and picked up a highlighter, sticking her nose deeper into her chemistry book.