Droplets pour on the sidewalk uncontrollably directed by the wind. Trees shake while the wind whistles. Drawing more attention than the rest is the falling rain. Without a breath it takes on a life of its own. Each hit different from the last. Nothing else feels to exist in that moment. Reminiscent of notes to a faded memory. There is no holding onto it as it slips away. What is left is a hand that will dry with time. As fleeting as those droplets are, there will be plenty. Continuing to fall.