Let's all of us escape to a Sahara desert, an African river, a Brazilian forest, a Siberian wasteland, a long-forgotten, unborn oasis of insane sanity.
Maybe, just maybe, we'll lift up a leaf as encompassing as a buffalo loin, as moist as a juicy star fruit, as green as an aphid, and witness some form of eternal magic spurting forth as purity and sanctity.
Yet it's possible for this gentility of water to exist solely as the bulky and almost prehistoric geometry of the lawn sprinkler guzzling outside our houses, and our adventures that never ended, those timeless tales of danger and yore, play in unison with the gaiety of our childhood days manifested in freedom on the block.