I stand in the fall
Droplets plinking from the ends
Of my hair, softly
It trickles down my cheeks
Bare
Drenched clothing, no care
Nature's very own white noise
It holds my mind still,
The fall allows me to breathe
I breathe -
Petrichor,
Emanating through the air
My fingers grow numb,
The wet continues to pelt
My skin, harder still,
That gentle thrum of the fall

I do not resist,
Water weaves me into ground—
I become the falling sound