Water Hymn

It was a hot one; low eighties in the shade along the south face. My Thai-print t-shirt became clammy with sweat. After crossing the one gulch, where the chances of encountering another biped lessen exponentially, the modesty of covering the aberrant way my body's put together-twisted spine and famine-victim build-melt away. Function over form.

Take your socially constructed idea of attractive and stick it right up your...

I was grateful for the breezes on the overlook. The waterfall played cacophonic hymns in tongues older than oldest languages of Man. Milarepa and I greedily rehydrated. It was the sweetest of ambrosia.

One of my adventuring buddies-the one whom could tell me he'd been to the moon once and my only question would be; once?-has spoken of the sheer joy of sticking one's feet in a waterway during walkabout. Having done it, I know he's not lying. However, let me tell you, brother, when your house is across the street from the river, there's something to be said for waiting.

And I am possessed of the formidable patience monks and saints prey for, and upon...

I get home, drop the pack, step back out with a mug of tea, some water, or even a beer, and dangle my legs in the water, its origin melting snowfields just a few miles and a couple thousand vertical feet away. The mosquitoes swarm about-I genocidally swat as many as I can between applications of repellant, knowing there's still plenty for the bats and swallows to eat, as I've seen them prey-and relax. The current provides its own backbeat. Slow songs of the eldest of gods. A perfect way to cool down on a hot day.

It's like a kiss from the Divine..with tongue...

A moment of contentment...