Water welled up.
It needed release. Was held up way too long. Dammed up too much. A lot of electricity had been generated. A lot of fields had been supplied. Inch by inch, little by little. It was clear that it wouldnt be long before it reached the top. Congestion. The wind stopped moving. It was as if it had stopped completely. Everything was still. Like the calm before the storm. Everything seemed to constrict for the inevitable. The water brimmed. The banks could no longer hold it in. A little just spilled over. And then some more. The flood gates tried to keep them in. To prevent people from knowing that the water was beyond control. The best it could. And then the flood gates had to open. From then on the water had a velocity and a path of its own to flow down. The air kept pace. Blew in gusts. Cuckoos cooed. And they made a melancholy tune. The water kept up a steady course. The wind blew harder. And finally as the water was fanned dry by the wind around and drained by the parched earth, there was peace. There was release. The flood gates closed. Not to open for a long while.
And thus, the journey of a solitary tear which could no longer be held back. A solitary tear that threatened to completely empty the canals and did just that. And with it, it emptied a soul.