I fall fast, first to the left then to the right, and then I’m on a railing dripping down to a level spot where I sit motionless then shrinking, the other drops falling above me not coming anymore.
I dry then fall again, this time faster, and when I stop I’m on a leaf and running down it to drip to the earth, where I settle on a blade of grass and wait again for the process to repeat.
I fall on to roads and merge with others flowing into channels and puddles and drains. I land with a splash in rivers and ponds and lakes. I get wiped off windscreens and nudge, inch then scuttle off train windows and visors.
I’m shaken off coats and jackets and umbrellas and brushed off tables and glasses only to warm and rise again then fall down, the wind dictating where I go until I land in another spot, a spot I’ve never been to before, half-excited to be there, half wondering when, if ever, I will land where I want to land.
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