Falling
tumbling
careening
through the air,
hitting each beaded branch on the way down.
Hoping for adhesion somewhere
among the scarlet buds and neon green leaves.
Instead most are torn apart,
their cohesions broken.
They leak,
reflecting what’s around them.
Some finding a spot to stick, finally.
Crystallizing tiny flowers,
They weigh down blades of grass,
just barely making it.
The rest failing,
diving,
making contact
and dispersing .
Joining all the others,
splashing to the asphalt
or the soupy, mud-covered lawns.
They lose their shape and become each other
Collectively something much larger
than they once were.
But it’s still disappointing
to lose individual
identity.
It's Still Raining