I am but a single droplet, plucked from the vast watery tapestry above. My tale begins in the silver haze of clouds, where I cling to the gentle embrace of the chill mist. Drifting, I whisper secrets to the winds, tales of the earth below—a patchwork quilt of forests and rivers, stitching stories into the fabric of time.
The plunge is inevitable. I feel the call of gravity as a homecoming hymn. The world below beckons—a symphony of color and sound. I descend through the shivering air, a solitary bead amidst a constellation of kin. Below, the rooftops glisten like ancient sentinels, awaiting my arrival with eager anticipation.
As I splash onto the pavement, the world ripples outward in concentric circles—echoes of my landing, a momentary dance upon the surface. Here, I mingle with the laughter of raindrops, shared stories of descent, whispered promises of nourishing the earth. Together, we create a chorus, a rustle of whispers in the gentle storm.