Part E: The A-Z of Unusual Words

This contest is now closed, but you can still leave entries for the final A-Z megacontest at the end.

The full instructions for this contest are here.

Briefly, contest entries need the following:

1. Pick an unusual word that begins with the letter E (If you love a word that begins with "ex," you are welcome to use it. However, I will also be accepting words that begin with "ex" when the letter X contest arrives).

2. Write the definition of the word (cite your source or paraphrase in your own words).

3. Share why you love the word, what it means to you and what themes it evokes.

4. Write a poem, essay or microfiction based on those themes. Aim for 100-125 words, but I'm not going to be overly strict about it.

5. Mention and link to this contest

6. Post your piece in the comments below before 9PM on November 12. You can post after that if you want to enter all 26 contests it just won't count this time. There will be one final contest with a prize for those who have entered every one, and it will still count for that.

My Word

Ephemeral: fleeting, transitory, available for a short time.

Landscape art celebrates that which is awe-inspiring and enduring in nature. Mountains last millennia, trees last for centuries and the ocean has existed in some form for most of our planet's lifespan. It is constant and comforting. It is reliable.

The ephemeral, on the other hand, is made up of nature's celebrations. Natural, ephemeral events cannot be planned. They happen only when the right blend of opportunities arises. A single rain in the desert will cause an entire landscape to bloom for just a few days. Bats and insects will feast, pools will fill with water and tens of thousands of tiny, hibernating toads will wake up from their sand-covered naps and breed for just a few days before disappearing for another year.

We use ephemeral events as metaphors for joy and wonder all the time. Rainbows, breaching (leaping) whales, auroras and shooting stars give us permission to stop and enjoy ourselves, to listen to the universe and dream of something more. They feel like gifts because we cannot plan them and because when they happen, the world around us appears to pause and celebrate. In our work-driven culture, this is often not a gift we can give ourselves without an excuse. Ephemera are the excuse.

My poem:

Ephemera

There is no pop-up on

my calendar for the

first rain of spring, when

earth heaves and turns

releasing green shoots, clad in

the perfume of

new life.

The summer beach walk

where my toes bubbled

in the blue light

of turning surf

was not penciled

between meetings

and family obligations.

Promises of bonuses

from quarterly projections don’t include

the flash of green light at sunset

or a cascade of leaping eagle rays

along the Mexican coastline.

But a five-year-plan

can shift

when head-down determination

becomes distracted

by the song of ten thousand tree frogs

and your face in the mirror

can transcend

under the light of

aurora glow.

---

I can't wait to see your creations!