Every day

Every day,
Every day it seems
A raindrop rests in the crook of a fragile willow branch
Outside my window.

Not all day,
But at a precise and special moment
As if by some strange and prearranged agreement.

It is a glow infused with light
Effortlessly yet magnificently reflecting the early spring sunlight.

Does it cling,
Clutching ferociously with all its might,
Trembling, terrified
Of that which is to come,
That which is yet to face it
As the gentle breeze quivers the surrounding leaves,
Rouses and awakens the freshly formed blossom,
Lightly brushes against your cheek should you notice it?

Or does it rest,
Nestling in its willow branch home
Undisturbed, idle,
Complacent and unbothered even -
Just is?

Will we ever know?

Every day,
Every day it seems
A raindrop rests in the crook of a fragile willow branch
Outside my window.