There is rain falling. br I am one of them: br One of the many drops leaving imprints on the floor, br Slowly swallowed up... muddled and covered by a thousand more. br What is the point of my story? br Between two trees is a blank and dry spot, br As though inviting me to join it, and I do. br That is where I sit now as I write this, br Hoping to leave an imprint of my own.