Whispers of Memory

I am but a droplet, delicate and transient, gathering the tales of the ethereal. My descent begins upon the gentle kiss of the cloud; an initiation into the cycle.

The crossroads is a curious place, where the river bends and the air vibrates with stories untold. Here, I meet fragments of time: echoes of thunder, songs of the soil, and the dreams of the skies.

From the sky, I learned the dance of the wind, its embrace a tender cradle. I have touched the warm hands of the sun, and whispered secrets to the steadfast moon.

Do you hear them? The voices entwined in forgotten verses, the memories that linger like distant reverie? I carry them, as I flow through the veins of the earth, a stream of consciousness weaving through the fabric of life.

Once, a child found solace in my reflection, tracing patterns on the ground. In her eyes, I could see a world untouched, a mosaic of dreams yet to be realized.