M'Images

The Paradox of the Water I'm taking a bath in very hot water in my bathroom in my bathtub. The water has come up thru a pipe and then a faucet and I'm holding it in place with a stopper. But two weeks ago, the water was cold and filled with sand and concrete and composite. It covered his sink and toilet and walls and floor and pretty rug with a dark brown mud that dropped in thru the holes the roof left after it blew away, then thru the interior building walls, and finally thru the heat-lamp fixture in the center of the ceiling. The water was angering me and I wanted it to go away, so I washed it off the floor with raggedy pairs of socks and contaminated tap water, which I emptied into the decorative shrub landscaping. The Second Paradox of the Water The steamy bath water was so hot, after I stood up, leaning on the tile wall, I turned on the water with an emphasis on C and forced it thru the showerhead, bracing myself for the shock that would undermine the snippet of physical relaxation I'd just eked out for myself. But the shiver passed by, the cool refreshing stream coursing thru my hair, streaming down my steaming skin, loving my cold shower. Why so different from the cold showers last week, in infested tap water, keep out of eyes and ears, so cold on my head, I'd sneezed on into the afternoon, resenting the pioneer life? So many are still taking cold showers -- and now you choose it, bonding with them still. The Paradox of the Candle

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