Dear inhabitant of the terrestrial sphere, heed my whispers.
I am but a drop, suspended in the embrace of a cloud's amnio.
As I wait, coalescing amidst my kind, I ponder the gravity of my fate.
Shall I succumb to the gentle pull of descent, or will I linger untold?
From the altitude, I survey—the endless earth, cradling its withering foliage.
Follow the current within the gales, allowing me to fall, to nourish.
In the quiet of my final fall, _seek_ the comforting embrace of liquid kin.
The Cycle of Water Echoes of the Past Aquatic Depths Await