This is the way of water. First, the feet enter and freeze. The toes strike against rock. Then water lifts to shins and thighs, and one is safely in. When thoughts are water, water is the magnitude of thought.
Thought takes the form of water.
Then it flows over the ideas and imaginings that dart or sit upon the rocky bottom called reality. This is where feet hurt. The granite pulverized to powder rises whitegrey ash across the trail and down the whole slope of the mountain. Here and there, trees have succeeded in securing some support, an isle of green in the grey white talus. Were one to look for water, were one to look in this place for anything resembling or recalling private life this alone would be found, dust in dust differently colored.