I descend, gently gleaming in the waking dawn, a solitary teardrop from the vast celestial embrace. The voyage from sky to soil is as ancient as time, yet uniquely ours—this tender moment alone. Above, I hung balanced on the precipice, the world below a tumult of colors, lives dancing among blades of emerald echoing warmth.
And below, the grass waits. Always patient, always yearning—my kin in color, equal in silence. I land upon your bristling green skin, and together we share this heartbeat of existence, if only for a heartbeat. I see you, gentle titan of tranquility, and understand a fraction of home.
You cradle me, hesitantly drinking in my essence, your whispers singing a serenade known only in this intimate hush. For a moment, we are one—liquid and leaf, story and storyteller, ever intertwined in the heaving softness of spring. Does the breeze carry more of my kin, more longing droplets, or sing of distant memories?