A wet perspective

It's raining over here. Its so pretty how all the little droplets look so cute splattering in my pool in the backyard. I stare at them and think about the beauty of each individual one...i see as i look closely and pick one up all the little lights and images that appear in a single drop. A parallel universe i'm looking into? Or just a beautiful water mirror of minimum size? I let it fall and i look up to see all the other little droplets fall and join thier departed brothers. I let my hands start catching them and i put them in a bucket I found. Why let them die? Why let them splat on the ground? i can't save them all though..there are too many...i hold the bucket close as it fills up slowly with all the little droplets. I stare into it until i get sleepy and go inside for i am now shaking with cold. "mother," i say, "i'm catching the droplets."
"The what?" she asked, once again unaware of what i was talking about. I sighed, a tad frustrated that my mother never knew what i was talking about. "i'm catching the rain."
"You can't catch the rain, dear. It infintily falls from the clouds then gets sucked up into the air and falls again later." I stared at her, looking outside at my little bucket, catching the droplets. "You mean...these droplets have been falling for years?"
"No, not really...but perhaps..." Mother answered, almost absent-mindedly.
I trudged upstairs, looking out on the rain from my bedroom. These droplets...could've been falling during...an ancient time...I thought, opening the window and letting my hand touch them. They could've touched the face of kings on a mighty battle field. They could've touched the face of a new born child as it's mother ran from the hospital to the car...They could have witnessed the crucifixion of Christ... I ran outside and grabbed my bucket, running back upstairs and locking my door. I stared into the bucket. "Tell me stories..." I told the water, and it did nothing. "Tell me of your travels..." It still did nothing. I sighed and pushed it under my bed. I sat on my bed, thinking about everything. Was i making it to complicated? Was it really very simple to hear a raindrop's story? I reached into the bucket and say many drops on my hand. "Come on, tell me." They didnt speak. I dried my hand off, thinking I was drying away history...as i rubbed my hand off i thought that perhaps...i was destorying history...
Father said i was a fool for thinking these crazy things. Father said i, in my mere five years of age, know nothing of the real world. I still keep that bucket under my bed. I feel like i have a little bit of history there. Just maybe...So what if no one else believes? No one has to! I'm the only one that wants to. I still hear the raindrops fall and hear stories of where they have been and not just a pitter-patter...