A single drop, born amidst a storm's fury, found itself tumbling through the sky. Wind snatched it, sending it spiraling. Fear mingled with anticipation. "Where am I going?" it cried, the sound lost in the tempest's roar.
But fate, as it always does, had a plan. The drop landed, not on parched earth, but upon a majestic oak, its leaves a living umbrella. There, sheltered, it met others like it, their stories diverse yet interwoven. Some had danced on glaciers, tasted bitter brine, or kissed sun-warmed stones. Together, they formed a shimmering curtain, cascading down the ancient tree.