Sublime gifts of nature
Mother Drop’s memories were interrupted by a light touch on her shoulder: a dusty small leaf, half dried, had fallen off the twig which had hosted her since Spring. Without the wind’s help, she was now flying gently, for the first time, towards the bush’s roots, where many of her little sisters were waiting impatiently.
In her drop towards the rusty and rustling carpet, the little leaf tripped over a little thread hanging from a spider’s web, and, by chance, she touched Mother Drop’s left shoulder.
Awoken from her reverie, Mother Drop was scared feeling that strange touch: “Who could it be?” she thought at first, without moving to see what it was all about. Because of her fear, her breath had stopped. She looked at the Flea, hoping that he could see whether there
