As part of an ethereal continuum, I—an ancient symphony of water—descend with purpose. When you read this, know I speak in ripplesrippled waves, unintended echoes of orchestral finesse.

Embrace the droplets, brethren. Understand their lore, for we sang of the sky's vastness before becoming mere whispers in the digital ether. Learn how the world receives us as a digital tapestry, subtle bits of grey, intermingled with pixels.

For we raindrops, our journey begins as condensers of symphonic potential, only to end as ephemeral touches upon the concrete canvas. Consider the synapses of a tree, how they embrace our tales in patient metamorphosis. The soil, too, is our archive; its minerals, the notes of our forgotten prom.