Droplets

The pitter-patter of rain against soft earth. Howling through the trees, the wind blows droplets sideways.
Splattering against the window, the droplets slip, sliding down.
Down.
Off the glass, joining together to form a streamlet off the sill. Flowing ever downwards, the streamlet plummets away from the wall.
Splash!
Merging with the puddle, the streamlet is lost. Swirling, surface muddled by constant bombardment.
Until slowly, steadily, the bombardment ceases.
Light shines down, warming the puddle.
Warmer, and warmer.
The puddle steams. Bit by bit, the surface layer rises higher and higher, toward that warm light,
While at the puddle's bottom, the soft earth draws in droplet after droplet, claiming all that it can hold.
Trapped between the two forces, the puddle has no chance.
It is torn asunder.
Part, beneath that soft earth, to nourish the fresh and living things it finds.
The other, up to the warmth high above. Only, before it reaches that warmth, it cools. Cools, and takes on new form.
Heavier and heavier it becomes, as more such as it fail to reach that warmth above.
Then, when it can no longer bear the weight, all that has been collected falls.
And separates once more.
Into the droplets of rain.