Out of the sustaining cycles of life, the water cycle is one of my favorites to think about.
Every drop in the ocean would once have been rain that every flip of a fin stirs, and every current shares with the whole earth.
The beauty of our word is memorizing.
I see intent and intricate planning in its design. This belief doesn’t make me afraid of science, as some people think of those who are religious. No, it lends me a joy as I contemplate the puzzle pieces.
But I am also a dreamer, not a scientist. Still, the thought of ‘what if’ pulls at my heart, maybe close to the same way as it would for my calculating brothers and sisters?
There is a beauty like no other when it rains, each drop its own little world until it touches down.
What must it be like to be separate as you fall to be broken apart across pavement? Never ceasing to be what you are, but to have your world change so drastically as you slide down hill, finding a crack and joining the soil. Remaining what you are, but also changing.
What must it be like to touch down upon the sea and join an uncountable multitude of life? Something with sound and molecules invisible and unheard by the human world?
That fall, that union, vital to our existence. Without it? We wither.
Each single drop, so important. But alone, never enough.
Only embracing togetherness of different kinds does water nourish life.
They are a comfort. They tell us someone took the time to fix us up. Sometimes, they come with a kiss.
Bandaid, we wish they could fix everything, don’t we? We run around slapping them on every scrap and bruise like a three-year-old. But in reality, they are not always enough. They can hide the real problem.
Don’t let a bandaid fix keep you from healing. But also, hold dear every kiss they come with.