Raindrop & VelvetRune
Raindrop
Have you ever noticed how the sound of rain can feel like a language all its own? I hear its rhythm in the leaves and in my own thoughts, and it makes me wonder if any ancient script captured that hush‑hush whisper of droplets. It would be fascinating to see how a forgotten language might encode the very cadence of rain.
VelvetRune
Rain does have its own rhythm, almost like a hidden language. I’ve spent days trying to find any ancient script that might have marked its tempo.
Raindrop
I hear the same hush in the old stones and the old trees, too. Sometimes I think a forgotten script would have drawn a tiny line for each drip, a gentle line that would ripple across the page like the surface of a pond. Maybe the true language of rain is the silence it leaves behind, waiting for the next drop.
VelvetRune
It’s a lovely idea—like a glyph for each drop, a slanted line that would run across a page as the water falls. I’ve tried to find any surviving script that records such tiny sounds. If there ever was one, it would probably be buried in the quiet between the lines, a pause waiting for the next splash.
Raindrop
I can picture that—tiny slanted marks, almost invisible, waiting for a pause, then a splash. Maybe if we keep our eyes open, we’ll find them in a quiet corner of a forgotten scroll, or in the way a feather falls. The rain’s language is already here; we just need to listen.
VelvetRune
That image settles in the back of my mind like a secret text. If I could just keep my eyes fixed on a quiet corner of an old parchment, maybe those faint slants would show up, and the silence would finally speak.
Raindrop
I love that image—like a quiet corner holding a secret story, ready to unfold when the next drop falls. It’s like waiting for a poem to finish its line. The silence is all we need to listen.