​​I went to investigate a gently flowing stream
and discovered that it was
trickling up from the massive rock
we were climbing.

The water gurgled up and out,
then down onto smaller rocks
and then into finer rocks
that pooled the water so slightly.

Next, the history of “taking the waters”
trickled from the Romans
into my palms, and I
splashed wellness on my face.

Eyes closed, coating my flaming cheeks,
the cold water squeezed a gasp from my lips.
I splashed again and gasped again,
and again, and again.

This, with such certainty, wells up in me now:
So much can be drawn from words.
​We go to the forest,
​for rest