It is night. A girl carries a bucket of water. In it, the moon and some stars are reflected. As she carries it, the motion disturbs the mirror, and the moon warbles, the stars twinkle, appearing and disappearing on the strange surface.

Then the bottom of the bucket falls away. The moon shatters into a hundred moons, a thousand moons, a million moons, falling, falling. The tiny moons warp on the turbulent surfaces of the falling waters. Each the same complete moon reflected, yet each presentation, and each moment of presentation is entirely unique.

Soon the falling waters find the ground where they land and are absorbed. Some droplets cling, here, or there, to blades of grass or stones. Perhaps there are puddles. But for these, and the sky itself, the moons and stars fade away into the granularity of the earth. But where did they go?

In the morning there is dew. The sun is reflected there. Billions of dewdrops reflect the morning sun. Each reflect the same sun. Each reflect it uniquely. They will evaporate.

There is an invisible sun.

Some distance away, the lake reflects a single star. Up in the sky, there are fabulous castles of mist. What dwells there, in and upon the strangely reflective surface of each droplet?

What dwells there by day? By night?

What is the rain?