Rain falls, it falls down Each drop unique, meets its death On this hallowed ground What is the significance of each droplet from the clouds to its demise The drop is deemed irrelevant by its death Some drops are lost forever in the mouths of plants Some drops are stored for a later death Subject to torture through purification And taken for its nutrients with millions of other companions As a group they are named rainwater A special group of drops not only survive, but also live on They become reincarnated drops of redemption Taken up to the sky in supernatural fashion Not by the small droplets strength, but by the cloud From where it first derived It is rebirthed to once again live as the water droplet.
Stella, with her four-year-old doe legs, pranced around the room humming some unintelligible song, then nestled herself into my lap with one swift leap. We were sitting at Pop-Pop’s baby grand, the one that filled the corner of his den, the one that often tinkered along on winter nights to the slow rise of flame in the fireplace. I never had lessons, but those keys had melodies that I spent hours in the pursuit of discovering. Stella sat upright and turned her round-cheeked face toward mine and said, “Play the rain. But don’t play the rain outside right now, play the rain that will fall tonight, when we are tucked in, almost asleep.” Quite the order it was, but like many of Stella’s instinctive requests, my heart felt awakened with the invitation. Stella hopped down, pulled a throw from the sofa, and dragged it across the floor to drape over…Continue Reading