The first thirsty humans on ancient continents tasted water.
The mother would have held her hand in a cup,
Pouring it into the mouth of her son and daughter,
And they to theirs as their time in turn was offered up.
Through the eons of time the flow has been the life source,
It is us and we are it, connected to water in turn,
And so when hear it falling, or washing on its course,
We do more than merely seek it. Rather for it we yearn.
We lift our heads to the falling rain, and like ancient hunters,
We pray for it in the dry telling months and season,
Celebrating for the fulfilling prophecy of the winters,
The fruits and grasses then equipped with their reason.