#vss365 Very Short Story

A light misting rain fell on the fine pine needles that graced the trees of the snow kissed slopes on the mountain high. The haze collected into a dew drop, who, like its namesake, fell from needle to needle. Bouncing, splitting, coalescing, and finally landing with a quiver in the merest rivulet. It was barely more than a whisper of those that came before, but enough to bank the drop and start it home.

The drop was alone, became several, became many as the descent passed from tenuous to torrent. The flood, established and embanked by the disparate droplets, careened through cascades on to the brackish byway. With a sigh, the drop that was dew, that was one among many, dissolved and became the sea