A single drop of water had sat there without being seen or noticed. It sat there for a long time before someone finally saw that it was merely a present spectator and thus, the person did what most people would do and decided to sweep it away with their hand rather than a cloth.
Of course, all this did was spread the drop out, and so then a form of fabric was used after in order to move the small, unimposing drop away. From there it changed shape even further as it became absorbed ed by the fabric, which then of course would lead to its next form; that of condensation over a gradual amount of time and warmth that would lead to its evaporation in order to change the form from something akin to liquid to something akin to gas.
This was nature of the drop as it did not have any control over its journey.
So of course it followed its path and the fabric followed its. Through a sweeping action the fabric was first on a surface, then airborne once more, then moved to another location where it would rest until it needed to be used once more. Or perhaps it would rest until it would be temporarily discarded before being placed in a large container of water, removing all that could be considered dirt from its body before being hung out to have any residual liquid dried out from its being before it would once more be put somewhere until its time once more came to be that it would rest in easy access in order to be able to be used with some form of convenience, whether it were to be pickling up something in some manner, or stopping the spread of something forcefully ejected from a body of flesh and bone.
And of course then that ejection would be captured only to be broken down at some stage and released into water, then led to somewhere else where it would become even smaller matter and who even knows as to what would happen from there?
The sun would play a hand in this process, but only at times. There would be forms of winds that would also lend their assistance at stages as they passed through the fine, almost microscopic gaps in the fabric that would, over time, gradually grow bigger and bigger until the fabric was more visible holes than it was something without.
And the cycle continues, of course, as for the longest time that is how it has always been, and for the longest time ahead that is how it will be.
It merely repeats in some form of routine. Almost like a dance that seems natural, but at the same time almost completely devoid of anything that could possibly indicate something akin to expression, for it is merely going through the motions until there is some form of need of change that will lead to a shift that is unnoticed.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:26:94
Something borne from… I dunno… basic routine maybe?
I don’t know what to say about this text.
Written at work.