Gentle, it descended, landing with dainty steps, barely enough to leave a mark. It was feeling whimsical, misting breezily through the trees. It hovered and twirled in the streetlight, a jubilant dance.
It fluttered kisses upon rosy cheeks and reddened noses. Threaded gossamer hands through curling hair. It rested, glittering like millions of stars.
And it chuckled at the huffs and sighs, as umbrellas hesitated to open. Unlatched, shaken, they remained prepared but closed. So it continued as before, slowly building, but never more than a softly sighing mist.