Let there be light. A slow beginning, The world waking up from its deep slumber.
You are not here yet; But now you are breathing in your own rhythm— The sound of falling water against stone.
Listen closely to what you learn. How it catches the edge, how it slows down near where the wood meets the slate; a hesitant echo before reaching the gutter, before anything falls straight out.
It starts with a whisper, a gentle pull from nowhere and somewhere very close. A murmuring sound that asks for nothing in return, nothing of importance to lift up just so much air.
You are learning how moisture gathers— the invisible weight lifting from your shoulder hair into the dark space below you. The roof isn’t built on stopping rain; it’s simply designed to hold it, and learn its slow geometry.
See how it starts with such a soft *ploof*, a single drop catching in an archway slot. It slides down slowly, guided by gravity’s gentle curve, not slamming into anything specific, but just enough force to release the tension you feel against everything around you. A whisper of relief at that moment.
You begin to hear this pause— the time before a full burst; the slow exhale; *ahhh...* not like something sudden and loud, but measured, deliberate. It is slowing down now, learning its own timing.
Listen closely too. The way your skin feels wet, a slight prickling sensation from nowhere at all to here exactly. You are learning about dampness—it’s a language that only speaks when there is nothing else to listen for— nothing loud enough to shout out of existence.
Each droplet, each passing minute, slows you down; it makes the edges softer, reminding you that everything bends just slightly toward balance. *It doesn't have to hit right.* It needs space. Space where it can learn its proper rhythm with gravity’s gentle pull.
You are learning how much there is left behind, how carefully one drop has built up so many secrets— a small house resting on countless wet beads of sleep. A soft *thump* comes nearer now... more precisely, less abruptly... the sound of a quiet *shhh-shh...*
It pulls back slightly from your hearing, doesn’t it? Letting you feel how much time has passed since the last *splash*, too. Just that slow rhythm.
You are beginning to understand itself in this steady flow, the gentle surrender toward release. *Shhhh... shhh-hush…* A whisper of patience, a soft pull down… until finally there is nothing left to learn at all…
It just stays here now, suspended on its way out; a hushed drip, dripping softly into the dark hollow below you. Just as it learns itself how to settle with gravity's gentle curve... *Shh.