The moisture, just a little more than heavy enough, takes its expected gravity path to the ground. Falling from a cloud, falling through the sky, until perhaps deflection on a leaf, or a roof, or a branch, and then further falling until it reaches soil. The soil is ever-further massaged.
The drop of liquid surrounded, reinforced, by billions of its fellows, each reaching ever-lower points; some richocheting off of asphalt -- a different noise happens then, a sharper one for a sharper surface.
When will each drop reach another stream? Sometime. Each drop is patient. Each drop can journey. Each drop will never tire. Each drop will find a path.
And the wall of sound of the rain outside makes its gentle way into your hearing, your thoughts, perhaps also your dreams.
And you are part of the world that gets soothed.
© Christopher Walsh, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Christopher Walsh (chris_walsh) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.