They call me Raindrop, born from the murk-filled sky, cascading through the prisms of reality. My descent, a delicate dance, suspended in a moment electrified by insomnia's mania.
I hear whispers, stories carried by the winds. They speak of sacred gatherings amidst the verdant tapestry of the forest. Beyond the human's plain sight, beneath the restless canopy—where secrets breathe and truth colors itself in shadow.
The elder Trees convene, cloaked in emerald twilight. Faces story-carved with aeon's wisdom. I drift closer, silent observer. Pine and Oak, Birch and Elm; they feel my trespass, welcome my curiosity.
Clandestine conversations pause, rippling the profundities of their purpose. Their voices become woven in water's hymn, languid and perpetual. Once felt only by those who choose to listen, these dialogues dance along new branches—the peripherals of my being, effervescent.
In their presence, my essence refracts possibilities untold, influenced by whispered alignments deep-seated in chlorophyll's hymn. My fall proceeds—joined by brothers, sisters of Elemental Symphony. To soak into ground unrevealed, promising sceneries new-fortified with echoes of chlorophyllal intent.