Salty Water

The pines stood tall, the earth a carpet under foot. The silence entered her soul as she breathed deep, lungs reaching to cram in more of the high mountain air. A river ran in the ravine below, free, bringing lush life along its course. Is there any sound as blissful as running water?

Water. In this place she can drink straight from the tap, straight from a pure spring. She hears the rain on the roof at night, crosses a swinging bridge over a rapidly flowing river, feels the moisture of the long, wet grass around her legs. The smell of fresh, damp, rich life fills her heart.

She lives in the desert, far from this place. A concrete jungle covered in dust. The car gets washed and two days later is again with a thick layer. The washing line has to be wiped each day if white sheets don’t want a dirty line etched down the middle. Even the trees are weighed down with dust. When it rains, which is rare, the streets immediately turn into potholed disasters as there is nowhere for the water to run. She drinks from a filter and even then, the calcium build-up in her kettle has to be dissolved often.

This place has been a refuge for her, for her family. The change from the desert a place where souls can rest and breathe and live. Her children have abseiled, biked downhill, ridden horses, climbed mountains, walked freely, chased vicuñas, fished for trout, collected pinecones and camped in tents. So many memories, each a treasure.

This time will be her last. The reality brings an ache. She says goodbye. She feels the tears run down. Water. Salty water of gratitude washing the ache. She’ll let them run those salty tears, or she’ll end up a potholed disaster. This is the start of many goodbyes.