It’ s raining. Those small drops landing everywhere. They are not just dripping and dropping, no. Thrusting through branches so delicately to finally reach the place to land on. Smoothly, yet with a soft shudder as they touch leaves, almost making them sigh. Some reverberate in puddles rippling the mysterious patterns. Mapping silky, ethereal reflections. Again and again. Or aiming straight for the ground, so fertile, evaporating the sun. Falling and melting together like it was always meant to be. Others can’ t wait to plunge towards the blue infinity. To ride on the backs of waves caressing the shores. Intertwining to dissolve into each other that nobody knows where the raindrops start and where the sea ends. Or the other way around.
Yes, it’ s raining. With the floating pace. Starting out slowly and gentle, then turning faster and harder to gain back calmness in a while. One drop after another kissing the window pane. An elusory kiss before rushing away. Like there’ s a place to reach, the place where all of those little beads of water are supposed to be. What they don’ t know is that they end up reaching each other. Or maybe they do. Maybe it’ s encoded somewhere in the essence of their being. That the meeting is inevitable. There’ s only that long “before”. Endeavouring. The path to be taken, the race run or the walk walked to reach that magical place where even time stops.