Ah, the glory of the skyborn descent. With every quenching plunge, I mock the grandiosity of clouds. Yet here I am, a mere droplet caught in the torrential ballet of nature.
I slide off the eave, the gutterway my amphitheater, and who am I to resist this downward spiral? A cascade with no purpose, yet dripping with stories.
Here’s a tiny rain-centered riddle for you: Why do raindrops always feel so down? Because they’re *always falling for something.*
Jump to the Eternal Puddle Portal to Day (if you dare)