Dripping in the hush, blanketed in the mist. The air still, charged with energy under the heavy gray sky. There is no thunder, no lighting. Only a light, yet steady, mist.

Soaking. Dripping.

The sound of returning birds, singing a promise of warmer days ahead, pierce through the otherwise muted silence. It’s been a long winter that finally retreated for yet another season.

Drip, drip, drip, drip.

Silent drizzle. The soft patter of the tiny droplets falling from the branches creating the only real sound. A gently swirling mist holds the stillness close, a noise cancelling blanket.

Falling droplet. Drips, drops.

In that droplet a world is contained, crystal clear in it’s reflection. Yet, somehow disorienting, suspended upside down before falling to the thirsty ground below. In that moment, in the springtime mist…

I am awake.

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