The Language of Rain

Thousands of raindrops,
each a crystal-clear tear,
splitting into countless smaller drops,
each finding its own way,
swaying
with the changing wind,
coating the green leaves
with tiny clinging beads.

Slowly they summon the will to collide,
merging into other droplets
that fall to the ground,
joining countless others that have jumped
into a tiny stream
threading through the earth.

Some dance in the air,
painting a rainbow
in an arc of vivid colors.

Others drift toward the lake,
tickling its surface
with their little fingers.

The lake does not complain;
the droplets quench its thirst.

The flowers receive them with joy,
and the earth opens its bosom,
greedily absorbing the nourishing drops
to bring forth new life.