Tiny rivers of water crawl out of the many nooks and crannies a patch of absorbent moss can provide for a little droplet. They connect together to form a perfect sphere, a small jewel that emerges from the moss becoming larger and larger until drip it falls. It hurtles through the air past groves of moss that cultivate the sides of the cavern as their home, past clusters of crystals glowing faintly in the faux twilight provided by flickering torches and past windows carved lovingly into the rock with small excited peering faces. It is suddenly caught on a cold metal roof, the soft plink echoing into the room beneath. It collects teal rust as it spills down the corrugated surface which spins in the droplet turning it into a perfect marble that a child might try to eat when their parents aren’t watching. After seemingly no time at all, it falls off , once again plummeting through the air past stained glass windows proclaiming miracles and congregations of fungi at the base of window sills. It races down, joining countless other droplets in a race to the mossy cavern floor before “Mamma! Ma! I caught one!” The helpless peals of excited laughter burst from the child’s mouth. They’re scooped up by one of their mothers and told sternly, but with sparkling eyes “ come now Poplin, we mustn’t get too distracted, we have to get to the market square.” The six year old pouts “ but, but loooook!! My hand’s blue!” Their Ma walks over to the two of them grinning, “Truffle, if we stayed to look at every blue droplet that came our way, we would be here until the end of our days.” seeing the child’s pout, she quickly adds “ you’re right though, it is very interesting. If we’re quick now, i’ll tell you about why they’re blue on the way home.” Satisfied with the answer, Poplin starts playing with the rust staining their hand and by the time they get to the market, the three are all covered with the faint residue blue handprints leave behind.
