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                                         Tasting the Mountain Spring

                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      The spring comes to us through a mile of mountain wood,

      Beginning in the high cold acres where

      Snow water starts, but seeping downward there

      Feeds roots, things at the abysmal source of

      All life. Sticks and wet stones and thirsts

      Of worm and toadstool, unseen starry bursts

      Of damp wood-pollen fill it­--taste enough

      To let you know it has come down the brink

      Of more than thunder . . . . in this foaming ditch

      Water with Earth’s iron tainted and defiled

      Mingles with stars, but, for myself, I drink

      Like a fawn or antelope, un-tasting which,

      So long as all that water’s quick and wild.

                                                                                   -Loren Eiseley

                                                                                   From: The Star Thrower

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