There was rain, maybe a thousand years ago, maybe more. It was salty, tinged with the scent of iron; it was water in the form of sweat, perhaps beaded on the flesh of an oarsman plying some northern sea or the shallower warmth of the Mediterranean. It beaded, it followed the pull of gravity, dropping—plop—into river currents, lake currents or those of an entire, mighty ocean. The beaded droplet diffused. It lost itself in the greater body of water, becoming one with the larger thing, its molecules joining other molecules in a strange dance, perhaps through the gills of fish. I am sure that some of the water dissociated, that its molecules spread out, broke apart, recombined. I am certain that a thousand years ago, or more, water in the form of sweat dropped from the shoulder of an oarsman. I don’t know his name. There was rain. Today. This afternoon, maybe this evening in an hour I scarcely remember. I saw it, beaded on blades of plant growth. It was chilly and damp. The weather (today, as on many days) was friendly to molds, to lichens, and to other aquaphilic life forms. It was cloudy, today, though vapor broke into spots of sunlight near the sun’s final flourish. The water bore nothing in common with sweat from a thousand years ago, and yet—perhaps by some odd miracle of coincidence—a single molecule of oarsman’s sweat survived, robbed of salt and human warmth. I know that such a molecule must surely exist: at least one—a single pair of hydrogen atoms bonded with a lone atom of oxygen. This molecule (for an improbable span of time) might have survived the rigors of currents, the metabolic processes of fish, and evaporation. An oarsman’s sweat might just possibly have evaporated into clouds far, far above, only to fall and rise and fall again (as the cycles of evaporation and condensation must surely demand.) Such an ancient molecule (two hydrogen atoms bonded to a lone note of oxygen) might have journeyed around the world, above the world, and settled…subtly and without notice, in an alley in Chicago’s Albany Park. Maybe not. But it’s a nice thought. It makes me think of the names of oarsmen, long forgotten. * I took this picture today. I made a trip from one place to another, in search of rice pudding and Dr. Pepper. I saw water droplets. I saw an abandoned sofa. I saw dog drops in strange, rusty colors. I photographed the water drops. Funny how it made me think of oarsmen. As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a great weekend and a happy impending Mother’s day to all mothers and to the kids who made them possible.