I hear the raindrops hit an iron ledge with a 'clink' ... and each time this happens, the drop fractures into countess driblets heading in all directions. Some tap the windowpane, the ambitious ones join the water sprawled about and a few nascent ones I am sure remain suspended in mid air. Drops on the window ultimately spiral down.. like a slithering serpent. Those that make their own way form puddles. The trajectory these droplets draw is nameless, pathless and devoid of an audience. Why can't our lives be like these? All of us in our clammy little worlds are trying to be the ultimate raindrop! But in the fag end are we not mere raindrops still?
