Short-Lived

In the quiet of early morning, a dewdrop clings to the edge of a leaf, a fragile globe reflecting the first light. It trembles, a breath away from falling, a brief testament to the night's embrace. So too, our joys, gathered like rain in the cups of our hands, slipping through fingers no matter how tightly closed. The laughter of children fades into silence, the warmth of a sunbeam dissolves into shadow, and words spoken in tenderness are carried off by the wind. Yet, in this transience, there's a beauty, a sharpening of senses to the grace of the ephemeral. For in the knowing that all is fleeting, we learn to cherish the moments, to hold them close, even as we let them go. Like the dewdrop at dawn, glistening and gone.