Unsplash photo by By danist soh

Dew Drops, a poem

By Christi Ortiz

I woke up one morning
completely dumfounded with dew.
It utterly fascinated me.
Surely I had seen dew before, or had I?

I was amazed at its inconspicuous defiance of gravity
as it silently hung from branches all around me,
Innumerable drops of water

Full of potential
as if holding all the mysteries of the cosmos
in one tiny ball
shimmering droplets of perfection

I watched as they hung in there unchanging
until perhaps the rain began to fall
and another drop of water came
and the two coalesce into one
and the weight seems to be so great
that the droplet slowly releases
as if giving birth to itself
and falls to the puddle below

Yet, there remains the drop of dew as before
and if I reach out to touch it
it effortlessly releases itself
dissolving into wetness upon my hand.
Or when I press it to my lips
in an effort to taste its sweetness
I taste nothing

Like the manna in the desert,
the dew comes anew each morning: Gift
It cannot be stored, horded, captured, or clung to
only received, relished, enjoyed.
This manna sustained the Israelites
as they wandered in the barren desert
in search of the Promised Land
It nourished them anew each day
to continue the journey

The dew, so metaphoric of the tender fragility
of each present moment
that can so easily be trampled on and destroyed
or not even noticed.
Pockets of grace
ready for the taking
if we are but Aware.

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