Depature

Larme's mother died that night. And the next night, she packed up her belongings and made her way out of town. She packed lightly, only two outfits: A white and silver gown sewn by her mother, and the green and brown traveling gear she now had on her back. She packed no food, no water, and only enough money to buy her one week's worth of meals.

She would start heading north. She wasn't sure what was north. The ducks flew towards the north when the snow began to thaw. The pink-meated fish clambered that way to lay their eggs. The river flowed from the north.

That was why she went there. She wanted to find the origin of water.

As she took her first tremulous step, a shake ran through her body and rejected her motion. She grunted in frustration and fingered at the charm around her neck. It was made of thin silver filigree, shaped into vines that twisted into a crescent moon. A tear-drop shaped pearl, cream-colored and uneven, hung from the tip. She headed back into town and made her way through the dark streets to a small house near the edge of the darkness. She circled the house, mulling over her options until she noticed a small cradle in one of the windows placed in the far corner of the room next to two cotton futons. She carefully unclasped her chain, then bit her lip as she took careful aim. The charm landed quietly, perfectly in the cradle.

With that, she ran as fast as she could into the forested boundaries beyond.

Larme didn't go directly north at first. At first, she headed east. That's where the river was. It was a thick and noisy beast this time of year. But then, everything was when the forest began to thaw; the young stags fought for dominance, the ducks fought for their mates, the men and woman folk of town made grandiose shows of might. The river, though, was always the strongest of them all. Larme thought about how fun it might be if she should turn at this very moment into a river-spawn fish and brave the beast as she had seen a few folk from her village, intrepid young explorers they were, brave the wild forest stags. But she wasn't a stag rider. She was a woman of the river.

She remembered the first day she had found this out. She didn't know how many moons ago it had been, but she did remember being about knee-height at the time. She remembered this because that's how the man had measured her. "Look at you, knee high and thin as a willow-wisp. What are you eating, little sprite?" And with that he handed her a spear, just her height.

She called him Uncle Pesch, and she had spent every full-moon hunting fish by his side. She was hoping that the feast would help her grow taller. That's what Uncle Pesch had promised, that if she ate plenty of fish, she'd grow big and strong. She was decently strong, but even full grown as she was now, she was still the shortest in town.

Well, she was the smallest in town. Now, Tautou was, though he still stood a whole 6 centi taller than her.
 Guess fish thrice a moon just wasn't enough, she though ruefully. Living with her mother, her diet consisted entirely of berries and mushrooms. Other families ate grains and wild turkey and even stag during the winter months. That is how one gets tall, not on berries and mushrooms!

Her mother was an apothecary. Worse, she was an apothecary that lived in a dream world all her own. Folks would come for medicines and herbs. Mother never came out of her dream when they arrived, but apothecaries were instinct to her, and if they made a request, then they would see it granted. Mother rarely ate and rarely slept and rarely every spoke to her. The few words that she heard out of her mother were usually mutterings of the names and uses of the herbs she was handling. Once in a while, they would restock the cabinets, and on the off hand her mother passed a berry or mushroom that was edible, she would mutter something like "Red berry. Edible. Nourishing qualities. Sweet with a hint of tartness." It was the "nourishing qualities" Larme was especially interested in. Those herbs they would collect in abundance, and occasionally eat right there on the spot. Her mother would pop the fruit in her mouth, her face completely expressionless. This was an extreme nuisance to Larme. Oh sure, her mother always described the taste, but hearing her mother say "tart" and watching her unblanching, dead-eyed stare as she munched away on some strange edible berry, and then, after eating one herself feeling her mouth shrink away into nothingness, these were two very different things.

Lost in memories, it was the first time that she had let her mother's death affect her. A tear peaked its way out of the side of her eye, growing as it realized no harm was to come to it. It made a valiant escape, but Larme would let no more flow. She distracted herself by naming the function of each plant as she headed further into the night, occasionally savoring edibles along the way. She pocketed some aronia and reishi for some tea the next morning.

As she approached the river, it was like seeing it for the first time, thought she had visited more than thrice a moon since she met Uncle Pesche. How many times has it been? she wondered. How old am I again? How many winters have passed? There were quite a few, she knew that much. And there were about thirteen full-moons for every season cycle. Well, I must have been here more than a hundred times at least, and that seems quite a lot.  

Her mind quieted as the sounds of the night took over. She could hear the crickets, cheerily wooing their mates. The wind whistled quietly through the leaves and over the grass. The river whooshed over rocks and under wind. She could feel the cool breeze.  The stars twinkled timidly, ashamed of how their twinkling compared to the glory of the moon.

Yes, the moon. Giant, glorious, full and bright. Protect my mother, she entreated to the heavens. Instinctively she felt for her charm, but it was no longer there. For a moment, a pang came to her chest, and she sat down sullenly. She became mesmerized by the sight of the river, now molten silver under the moon's comforting glow. Its loud but gentle whispers lulled her, and without even realizing, she was sound asleep.

Larme woke with a start at the first sound of the cuckoo. Uncle Pesche will find me! She anxiously ducked behind the nearest tree and looked around. But Pesche was nowhere to be found. They must have found my mother. He must be at her funeral. She supposed he would be the only one who came, and only to comfort her. Except for apothecaries, the entire town had shunned her mother.

And that's why you are leaving! she thought to herself with added determination.

She started walking north, and considered what the river's beginning must be like. Perhaps water comes down in big barrow-fulls at this one special point. That didn't really make sense though, Larme reasoned. After all, rain covered everywhere pretty much evenly when it came. Maybe there was a place where it always rained then? And that's where all the clouds were born? The whole sky was covered with clouds that never left and they rain and rain and rain. And the rain collects in a big rain-barrel that's really a giant pool and out of the pool all the water flows into the river and the river gets smaller and smaller and smaller as all the animals and plants drink it until it disappears.

 Yes, that sounds about right. She thought to herself.  And you know, she supposed,  sometimes one or two rain clouds must stray and make their way down south to our village. All alone, they wonder too where the water went. Wondered and wandered and all washed up.

They are like me, she decided. A little cloud leaving home and off on an adventure.

Origins

Water's origins are very simple my child. 

Something unseen in the air collects, coalesces, courses down. 

Where does the unseen come from? 

From the travails of the living, of course. And from the non-living. The volcano, no longer able to bear its own fears and frustrations, erupts. Out of volcano's mouth comes fire yes, and steam; in tears that flow towards the heavens. The dogs pant and the humans sweat and the swine cry and out of each labor comes drops that fall upward to the heavens. 

Water's origins are very simple. 

We work, we eat, we play, and out of us comes the very fabric that necessitates our being. Up to the heavens, down to the stream, inside us, and all over again. 

Was there a time before water?

How could we know? We start with water, and we end with water, and thus the origin of water is origin itself.

Always remember this child. 

Always remember.