I am a solitary bead, clasping the sky in a gentle tug. The ascent is forgotten—the misty cradle of clouds, now a memory. As I fall, I traverse a path unknown, seeking warmth in the embrace of the earth. In this descent, I collect stories of the air, whispers of the wind.
Tin roof, glass pane, each surface a mirror reflecting another self. I touch them, briefly, leaving the imprint of my journey, a transient kiss. They murmur secrets of the cosmos, of stars unseen and skies forgotten. I dream in echoes—whispers of the tides.
My body might dissolve into puddles, merging with the flesh of the earth, or evaporate, soaring back to the clouds. But here, amidst the rhythmic pulse of the storm, I linger. A note in a celestial symphony, resonating with every drop, every sigh.
Listen closely, for I am the quiet refrain of rain. An interlude in the clamor of time, a reminder of the delicate dance between sky and soil. Between being and becoming. In the end, I am a reflection of all that I touch.