Raindrop
Thunder and lightning call me to the window. The sky reflects my
mood. Rain hits the glass persistently, as if it wants to come in, take
over my dry home, my safe space. One raindrop catches my attention when
it smashes hard against the window. It is shocked into a moment of rest,
recuperates, relaxes into a succulent pearl. Too zealous to remain
still, it pushes off with a slight jerk and slides downward, leaving a
wet, snail-like track of slime on the glass. Uncommitted, uninterrupted
it descends at its own pace, deviates a little to the right, a little to
the left, through the maze of water and dust.
Suddenly, in an instant of strong attraction, the drop moves into
another moist path. Quicker now, as if in a rush, it catches up with its
mate further ahead. They embrace tightly. As one, united and strong,
they continue their journey. There is no stopping. There is no turning
back. But its time is given.
I open the window and lean out. The shiny drop now dangles at the
edge of the windowsill and then - my raindrop, my gem, plunges into the
lush grass. Gone. Rain pours over my hair and face. I don’t know how
long I stare into the loss. Finally, I breathe in deeply the cleansed
spring air and turn my attention back to the hundreds of beaded drops on
the window. There is no other pearl like the one I lost.
Verena Berger 2006
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