This morning, I was mesmerized by a puddle being grown through the tenacious efforts of the rain.
In the steady dripping and splashing, iridescent bubbles formed. They rode the surface of the water, some for an enchantingly long while and others for the briefest flicker. They held silent companionship with the capsized and wrecked vessels of fallen leaves. These precious water blooms wandered silently before dying without leaving a trace.
At first, I was overcome with world-weariness. Such long and troubled journeys the raindrops had made from such great heights! How very few of them did more than add size to the puddle, and their little bubbles of success were all doomed to insignificance. Sparkling, yet without meaning because they barely existed. The bubbles and the puddle itself would vanish by noon. All would be lost.
Then the irrepressible cheer returned. What a lovely work, this tiny sea with its concentrically rippled flesh and transient gems! The rain arose and made many works. Look at the jewels scattered across the green! Look at the little lakes and rivers covering the landscape! Such plenty, such artistry. Such victory over nearly not existing! And, having come, this little world is in me now.
It is enough.