A Drop’s Tale

High above the world, in the hush of a silver-lined cloud, a tiny drop was born.

She shimmered softly, round and perfect, nestled among thousands of others just like her. But she wasn’t like the others—not exactly. While most drops dreamt only of falling, of the rush and splash of reaching the Earth, this little drop listened. She listened to the wind whispering through the sky, to the thunder rumbling like an old giant, and most of all, to the heart of the rain.

It beat quietly, like a song remembered from long ago. “We fall to rise again. We journey to bring life. We vanish to return.”

One morning, the sky turned grey and heavy. The cloud stirred, trembling with purpose. All around her, the drops began to leap, shouting with joy. It was time. Time to fall. Time to become part of the world.

The little drop hesitated—but only for a second. Then she let go.

Down she drifted, faster and faster, the air singing past her. The Earth rose up to meet her: green fields, rustling trees, rooftops, and rivers. With a soft splash, she landed on the wide, smooth leaf of a sunflower.

It was warm, the surface trembling beneath her. The flower tilted gently toward the sun, cradling her like a mother might cradle a child.

“What are you?” the drop asked the sunflower.

“I’m a seeker of light,” the sunflower replied. “You bring the water I need to grow. Without you, I would wither.”

The drop smiled. She nestled into the veins of the leaf, and for a while, she simply was—a part of something greater.

But the sun grew stronger. Day turned hot, and slowly, the drop began to rise, lifted by warmth into the sky once more.

She became mist, invisible, floating.

High above the fields, she wandered through the air, joining other droplets as they drifted into a cool breeze. They climbed, together, forming once more into a cloud—one that carried not only water but memories.

This time, when she fell, she landed in a mountain stream.

The water rushed around stones, singing over moss and under fallen logs. She tumbled joyfully, spinning and splashing with her sisters. They were full of stories now—of trees, of animals who drank them, of roots and rocks and rivers.

Further and further she traveled, through narrow brooks and wide rivers. She passed children laughing in the shallows, fishermen whispering to the water, birds diving and rising. Sometimes, she sank deep and still, resting in the quiet pockets of the current.

Then one day, the river met the sea.

The drop paused at the edge, uncertain. The sea was vast, endless, full of secrets. “Will I be lost here?” she asked a nearby wave.

The wave laughed gently. “You will be changed. That is not the same as being lost.”

And so the drop let go once more, joining the swell of the ocean. She moved with the tides, danced with dolphins, brushed the sand on coral reefs. She felt the pull of the moon and the heartbeat of whales. In the darkest depths, she rested among ancient stones, still and silent.

But she was never forgotten.

Eventually, warmth found her again. She rose slowly, evaporated once more into the sky. Carried by winds, she traveled far—over deserts, forests, cities, and mountains.

And then, once more, she fell.

This time, she landed in the palm of a child.

The child laughed and looked up at the sky. He held out his hand as more drops splashed against his skin, and in that moment, the little drop understood something deeper than ever before.

She wasn’t just a drop. She was part of the story—the whole story. A cycle without end. A whisper from the rain, a breath of the Earth, a gift passed from life to life.

In every place she had touched, she had left something behind: a little growth, a little hope, a little memory.

And soon, she would rise again