It’s the moment before a raindrop hits the ground.
The sunlight, muted as it passes through the clouds high above, is enough to make the raindrop glow a silver-blue. Through it, the world is blurred, its beauty merged into browns and greens and greys.
Leafless branches shiver in the cold wind. A faint whistling sounds as the sky exhales.
As if in sync, the earth prepares to inhale. The soil waits for the raindrop to make contact, waits to absorb it.
Deep in the earth, a seed is waiting to sprout. It has been waiting for a drop of water to make its way from the sky through the wind to the soil. It has been waiting to unfold.
The raindrop is still, heavy, firm. A moment from now it will splash noiselessly. Its form will be lost but it will sate the earth and delight a little seed. One day that seed will grow to peek out into the world.
The seedling will live to see hundreds more rainy days. It will brave the cold and the wind. The seedling will live to see hundreds of sunny days.
But in a moment from now, this raindrop will cease to exist.
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You are alone in your room. Your curtains are closed, and your eyes are closing. You have an essay to write.
You’re tired. You wonder whether you should keep working.
You probably will, but you need a break. You lean back and you close your eyes.
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Meanwhile, somewhere in the world, a raindrop is about to hit the ground.