Rain falls even now after a few hours of reprieve, just as the entire day encompassed one shower after another, some heavy, some light, all steady.

The world changes after rain.  Have you noticed?

As though cleansed, refreshed, renewed, it stands gloriously in awe of nature’s ability to bring life to what previously had been assaulted by unending heat and humidity.  It is as though the universe itself rejoices in dance following a downpour.

And I join in that waltz.

My fingers ache to touch all that partakes of this rejuvenating essence.  My heart cries out to bathe in the magnificent vitality found in the smallest of things and in the greatness of the whole.

If you look at the largest version of that last photo, you’ll see a world within a world, a tiny space holding infinite possibilities, all contained within the drop of water clinging to the end of the leaf.  Grains of dirt and sand can be seen hiding under what must be a deluge to them, yet is something no more important than a trinket to my own flesh.  Just as I said about icicles, I say again about drops of water: “There exists a world dangling from the end of each leaf, from the bend in each branch… worlds cast in cold. . .  They are worlds we can never know truly without destroying them.  They are impenetrable to all of our senses save one: sight.  Only with our eyes can we visit those places, for they remain otherwise forever removed from our existence.”

To know them directly would be to destroy them, so I shall know them in the only way I can: visually.