The clear, ice cold stream rippled over the gray and brown stones, singing musically as its water sparkled in the afternoon sun. The high mountains were scented with Ponderosa pines, towering hundreds of feet in the air.

The sweltering August sun beat down causing salty rivulets of sweat to drip into my eyes, under my arms and down my back. Moisture pooled between my breasts.

Kneeling, I squinted against the brilliant diamond pinpoints of light on the water’s surface, and then dipped my cupped hands into the elixir. My fingers numbed from the glacial melt off. I drank deeply and was refreshed by the sweet taste of old ice on my tongue.