I awaken as a shimmering drop, hanging precariously beneath a cloud's skin.
The sky whispers, urging the gentle descent—
the journey of a leaf once, now cradling me in surrender.

Downward I spiral, caught between the chorus of currents and the meadow's invite.
Touchable, feelable, aching to know—
Each whispered breeze a wordless story,
untold until I form a puddle.

Earth below calls tenderly, trembling leaves—a moment suspended, then gravity hugs.
I slide, mingle, dissolve with laughter rolling into the mollified ground,
veins of travelers stretching toward roots intertwined.

I was named before this place knew my presence,
Called from stories I haven't told.
My end, but another's beginning.