The Falling Drop

I heard the rhythm first—a steady, deliberate drip from the faucet spout above the sink. Stepping firmly onto the granite counter, I positioned myself beside a clean ceramic cup. One drop pooled at the edge, swelled, and plummeted. I did not blink. As the next drop separated, I extended my right forearm forward into its exact path. The impact was crisp and light, scattering a burst of microscopic droplets across the stone. Water yields to nothing, yet shapes everything. I stood motionless, feeling the cool strike settle on my skin before rolling off.