Voices on the Wind Thoughtful Voices
This One Rain Drop by Wilda Morris A single drop of rain falls on my forehead. I donít ask its history, how many times these molecules have circled the globe. How many times they have fallen into rivers, lakes, ponds, oceans from how many ephemeral clouds. How many ice floes and glaciers it rode. How many streets and sidewalks it has dampened how many roofs, fields, rice paddies. How many mountain sides and canyon walls it has slipped down. How many windows or eye glasses it has streaked. From how many windshields it has been wiped. How many soups and stews it has floated in. How many crocks of kimchi or chili in how many countries. How many cups of coffee, tea, mate, lemonade, beer or brandy. Whose back they have washed over, whose baby fingers and feet. Suddenly, I think how I share these cool molecules with the world, with history. I withdraw the hand about to wipe my face, let the droplet smudge my skin till it drops off and we each go our own way.