Droplets of Divinity

Snow. 700 words, 3 minute read. With Claude Sonnet.

The ancient chapel's wooden beams groaned under January's assault. Outside, something wet struck the stained glass windows – not quite rain, not quite snow, as if the sky itself couldn't make up its mind.

High above, in a realm where clouds served as carpeting, three divine beings observed the scene below. Nimbus sprawled across a throne of cumulus, his form shifting between mist and substance. Beside him, Crystalline perched on a seat of diamond-clear ice, each movement sending prismatic light dancing across the chamber. Granulus, the most restless of the three, paced the clouded floor, leaving small dents of frozen precipitation in his wake.

"Fascinating," Crystalline murmured, frost patterns forming in the air with each word. "Three priests, three prayers, and each one wants something different from us."

Below, Father Matthews pulled his worn cardigan tighter, his breath visible in the unheated chapel. His hands shook slightly as he opened his phone, thumbing through photos of his son's expectant face pressed against their living room window. "Please," he whispered, his voice catching. "Tommy's been so patient. Just enough snow for one perfect day."

Two pews back, Father Rodriguez's knees cracked as he shifted position. His fingers traced absent patterns on the wood, matching the salt-stained swirls on his car outside. "The forecast said rain," he muttered, eyes fixed on the crucifix. "They've been wrong before. Please don’t be wrong again."

"The young one wants snow for his child," Nimbus observed, his voice echoing like thunder in a valley. "The tired one wants rain to avoid labor." He leaned forward, causing a small shower over the chapel's eastern corner. "But watch the old one. He interests me most."

Father Anderson sat alone in the back, shoulders hunched beneath his collar. His weathered hands worked a wooden rosary, each bead clicking like hailstones against glass. Beneath his feet lay the morning's insurance rejection letter, its corporate letterhead stark against the ancient stones. "Forgive me," he breathed, each word heavy with shame. "I know better than to pray for destruction, but..." His fingers found another bead. "But how else can I keep your house from crumbling?"

Granulus paused his pacing, ice crystals forming and melting in his wake. "He prays for hail while holding guilt in his heart. When did mortals become so...complex?"

"They've always been complex," Crystalline replied, drawing patterns of frost in the air. "We just haven't always listened carefully enough." She studied Father Matthews, who had moved to the window and pressed his palm against the cold glass. "Look how the first one's love shapes his prayer. Not for himself, but for a moment of joy he promised another."

Nimbus rippled thoughtfully. "And the second?"

"Practicality isn't a sin," Granulus commented, but his voice held less conviction than before.

The chamber fell silent save for the distant prayers rising like smoke. Finally, Crystalline stood, her movement sending cascades of light across the clouds. "Perhaps there's wisdom in letting them find their own answers."

"What do you suggest?" Nimbus asked, though his knowing smile suggested he'd already guessed.

Below, the first drop fell – a perfect sphere that was somehow rain, snow, and hail all at once, as if it couldn’t make up its mind what it was destined to be.

---