From the heavens, I plummet. Fear? No. Anticipation? Always.
Embraced by air but yearning for earth, my journey begins anew.
My form, transient—a whisper on the wind, a memory confined to the vast.
Glistening in morning light, I long to merge, to vanish in the embrace of soil.
As part of the unseen ocean, I reflect—echoes of forgotten waters.
Each drop I meet carries tales of mountain slopes and city streams.
Sophylla—does she hold the power to reshape skies? To rearrange lines of clouds?
To rise again, or trickle down, each choice sharp as the edge of a thunderous thought.
The palette awaits—a canvas painted in hues of sorrow, and joy.
Below lies certainty. Below lies the unknown. Above, I drift lightly, untouched.
The current, relentless, yet a gentle guide.
The sky, our collective canvas, breathes in color—sings in saturation.
In every descent, I learn. In every ascent, I weave anew.
Linking rivers, whispering tales—serpentine narratives. I am both storyteller and story.
If existence is brief, let it be luminous.
The wind’s clutches loosen and I ponder—does my choice echo?
Cascading through the ether, I smile in silence, touching all without grasping.
Meet me where cloud meets sky.