Water water

An essential of life. A self-evident truth of which we think about little.

Until we run out of water. Or it buckets down. Or refuses to act as it should.

I seem to be preoccupied with stories of water of late. A little girl dies of dehydration in the desert, a summer storm just three days hence drenching the countryside around her.

The water turns off in Blackstone, a small reminder (less severe) of the centrality of water to our existence. The every day inconveniences multiply as the day progresses, the taps still dry.

A bucket of precious water sitting in the laundry tub. Back up for essentials like clean teeth and a sponge bath before bed. A quick assessment of the water to hand. 10 litre containers at work, at the store, in the garage. Enough for now.

Yet it's drenched outside. The conventional view of summer deserts are baked dry earth, cracking and parched. In fact it's the opposite. Summer is the time of storms. Where winter clothes briefly re-appear as storm clouds unfold. Rapidly evaporating the next day.

Each summer I remember the summer previous. Roads blocked for weeks, too wet to pass. Store provisions rapidly declining, pantry stocks the centre of every meal.

I was reflecting the other day on the minor inconvenience of the cold water taps never running cold. In summer, no amount of running the taps to get the water, heated in the quiet pipes, to pass makes any difference. I drink warm water, reassured that it is meant to be better for rapid absorption in any case.

And now there is none. None until 6pm tonight ... maybe... while the tank is filled. I missed the (unpublicised) brief window this morning of running water. Missed my shower yesterday. It's going to be a high day.

Oh for the halcyon days of warm water never running cold.