I rolled off the edge of a leaf, joining the mass of droplets condensed from the vapors above. My brothers and I, linked by the same silken thread of fate, whisper secrets of the skies.
I drift towards the ground, cascading downwards with the inevitability of gravity. Thoughts of the Earth envelop me like a quilt—the soil, the stream, the roots of an ancient oak. Each drop carries a tale, yet we are anonymous amidst a symphony of water.
As we gather in pools, our shared story unfolds in quiet dreams. More than mere water, we are memories of distant clouds, grains of truth threatening to spill into the ground.
There's a flicker in the distance—a flame. Eager and defiant, it dances and crackles. I wonder if it too yearns to connect, to share tales in warmth and flickering glow.
Are the flames like us? Condensed energies, hunting their place among the kin of wind and earth. I imagine our union—a drop and a spark, forging a paradox of life and blazes.