My birth was but a flicker in the crystalline dance above. I tumbled downward, cradled by the ephemeral sky, where droplets like myself conspired in gentle turmoil. The world below called to me—a vast tapestry of muted greens and browns, shimmering under the cloak of a steel-gray sky. As I plummeted, I felt the stirrings of an ancient melody, a song woven into the fabric of the rain.
Echo and Murmur, my companions from the clouds, spoke of their adventures. They whispered tales of rooftops and rivers, of puddles forming like mirrors, capturing the fleeting dance of ephemeral light. I listened, entranced, as they spoke of verdant forests, where leaves with whispered secrets awaited the kiss of rain.
I longed to share in their tales, to slip silently into the embrace of Earth, to join the symphony that only the fall of rain could orchestrate. My heart, if a drop could possess such a thing, yearned for the earthy musk rising from the soaked ground, the gentle hum of life awakening beneath each drop's descent.
As I fell, I saw a dancer—fragile, lovely beyond measure—spreading kinetic tendrils in the twilight blue space above the city. Light refracted through us, tiny prismatic visions of eternity rippling in a fluid symphony. What visions will you hold, what songs will you sing, little droplet? The ground beckoned, a maternal force as vast as the cosmos itself.